Caged
by The Wandering Pen
Summary: This is a Highlander crossover story with Kenshin as an Immortal located in San Francisco in 1941.
1. Chapter 1

Author Notes:

I don't own Highlander, Rurouni Kenshin, or anything of importance save the love of my family, friends, and two fat cats.

This story popped into my head for unknown reasons, but the premise is that Kenshin is an Immortal, a la Highlander, and is in the San Francisco area on Dec. 7, 1941. Let me state that I am not of Asian heritage, I'm not over 50, and I've never been to San Francisco, so it would seem I'm flying in the face of the wind throughout this story. All I can say is I've read a lot and I hope to bring the storyline through in an interesting and entertaining manner even if I have to take a bit of artistic license with some of the facts. Despite all my research, I just can't know what it was really like, and I have no idea what the original authors may have wanted for the characters I use. Bear with me. I will do the best I can to keep the big, important things real. And if I have a major screw-up, let me know.

Here's where the spoiler warning comes in. If you haven't seen Highlander – End Game or Samurai X – Reflections (Seisouhen) OVA, you may want to skip this part and move on to the story, 'cause the cats are coming out of the bag. If you have seen them or don't care that you haven't, keep forging ahead.

I took only a couple things from Seisouhen, which is a beautiful film but very depressing and not what most of us want for the Kenshingumi. The first thing is that Yamagata-san asks Kenshin to aid the army in an advisory capacity in the Sino-Japanese War, occurring in China in the early 1890's. For my story purposes, this results in the first death, when Kenshin becomes an Immortal. The second thing I took is that his scar fades with that first death, as atonement is reached. I didn't have it fade away completely, though. It is part of what and who he is, and his reminder to never let go of himself again. It simply no longer dominates his features, and can be virtually unnoticeable in most situations. Some would say that conflicts with the Highlander canon - that scars before the first death remain and those afterwards heal completely unless it is an almost head-taking blow. Tough. My story, my rules! And I like the idea that Kenshin has reached atonement, knows that he has, and can move on. It doesn't change his basic nature, but it does allow him to find a balance in his life so that as the occasion demands, he is both silly rurouni and serious Battousai. So on to other Highlander canon I've screwed with…

Most FAQs for the Highlander series state that Immortals are found, not born and they are sterile from birth. The first seems to be a ridiculous premise – they had to have been born somewhere, some time, to some body. Babies really don't come from under the cabbages. I see the potential to be an Immortal as a (very) recessive gene that only takes dominance on occasion. Immortal-potential babies come in the normal way, but many become foundlings because of the times. Life can be tough, and given the ages of most of the Immortals we know and the conditions throughout the world, it was often downright brutal. In my world, Kenshin was not a foundling, but lost his family as Watsuki-san says. As to the sterile-from-birth thing, I offer this scene from _Highlander-Endgame_ which occurs after he – already immortal – kills her, a potential immortal, because he wants them to always be together. She realizes what he's done and what she now is, and is none-too-happy about it.

**Kate MacLeod**: Stealing's wrong. Lying's wrong. Killing's wrong. What you did goes well beyond wrong.  
**Duncan MacLeod**: Fine. I deserve that, but I want a chance to make it right.  
**Kate MacLeod**: You want to make it right? Then give me back the ability to have children, to grow old with the man I love. How about anything that resembles a normal life? And you took it all away from me.

It may be that she only hopes this is the way it would have been, rather than reality according to the creators, but that's the premise I'm working under. So Kenshin and Kaoru had Kenji, and a couple more children (thanks to those authors who have created other kids – I've used your names for them because I liked them) and life went on…

And as an aside, this idea popped into my head before I read any of L.Mouse's excellent "Swordsmen universe" stories, so I'm not trying to compete or steal any thunder. What can I say except that great minds think alike?! If you haven't read them, go check 'em out. L.Mouse is obviously a much (_much_ _**much**_) faster and more dedicated writer than me!

End of notes and time to get on with the story!

**Caged**

Changes – San Francisco, September 1941

"Niitsu-san! We are moving!" Hideo Takamatsu picked his way carefully down the neatly raked path of pebbles into the garden to where his gardener was pulling weeds. His wrinkled face wreathed in a broad smile, he continued: "My son bought nice big house; plenty of room for us. We move in and help with the children when they come to visit. Help with everything else, too. Movers come yesterday and pack whole house. We stay to say goodbye to friends, but we leave in morning."

The man who called himself Tom Niitsu stood up from the gladiola bed where a small pile of weeds lay with their roots exposed to the sun. He was a short man, not much over five feet tall, but the breadth of his shoulders and the ropy muscles that showed where the sleeves of his blue work shirt were rolled back indicated a life of fitness. He appeared to be maybe thirty and of diluted Japanese heritage, with delicate, almost girlish features and wide, lavender-colored eyes. He pulled a red bandana from the back pocket of his jeans to wipe across the sweat on his forehead, under short, shaggy dark brown hair that the sun highlighted in red.

"I knew you were thinking of joining him, but I didn't think it would be this soon. Your son's got six kids, right? So that's a pile of grandchildren to come visiting."

"Great-grandchildren, too," Hideo said proudly. "They are most fun. Spoil them." The old man's eyes crinkled in laughter.

"That is good for all of you, then, but I will be sorry not to see you anymore," he said, his voice a light, pleasant tenor. "Or to taste your wife's ohagi." He smiled and winked.

The old man laughed in return. "You see, we make you more Japanese, just like I said. Soon you go to Japan and find nice lady for wife like Takamatsu-san say."

"No, no! I'm American; I need an American wife." It had been a joke between the two men since they'd met ten years before, with the older man from Japan insisting that too many generations in America had ruined Tom's family and that it needed an infusion of good Japanese blood to make it better.

"Then why you no get one? You have good business, you not ugly – except those eyes. Too light. You not lazy…"

"I haven't met the right one yet," Tom cut in, still laughing. Having Takamatsu-san listing his virtues – or lack thereof – was not something he wanted to listen to. "So you and your wife will go live with your oldest son? What's his name again?"

"Hajime. We will live in Dallas now. Sun shine more than here, he say. No more San Francisco fog."

"Ah, you'll like that, then. Is Mrs. Takamatsu with you? I'd like to say goodbye." Tom set his work gloves on the bench under the arbor and wiped his hands on his jeans as the old man nodded and turned back up the path.

The house was fairly small; a bungalow style with a detached garage, both with cedar shake siding and a tile roof. Tom had never seen the inside. There was a stone patio off the back with a raised stone wall around it, and the yard sloped gently away; a swath of bright green, weedless grass, another low stone wall, and then the gardens. These were done in Japanese style, with a narrow, rock-bottomed stream that meandered through to a koi pond, the water kept circulating with a pump. A semi-circular bridge with high, rounded side beams arched over the stream to access the lower garden. Weeping cherries, willows, and bonsai shrubs dotted the space, partially hiding the bridge, a few strategically placed benches, and a pagoda, and bamboo towered near the pond. The rest of the space was taken up with beds of flowers and ground covers, some blooming, and some providing background. Another, higher stone wall bordered the sides and back of the garden. Beyond that was a stunning view of the city, the bay, and the ocean beyond.

"I tell owners they make deal with you; keep you working on gardens. Until they get new renters, you keep it up. Mow grass. Pull weeds. Make it nice for when they come," Takamatsu said as they shuffled towards the patio on the back of the house, Tom hovering in case the old man's balance was upset. Hideo was closer to eighty than seventy and while still pretty spry, he was slowly becoming more unsteady. Tom made a point of carefully raking the pebbles on the path every time he visited to ensure there were no holes or the tiniest bit of unevenness that might unbalance the old man. They could see Mrs. Takamatsu standing near the rock wall that surrounded the patio, gazing off across the city and the bay towards the Golden Gate. It was a rare clear day and the sight was well worth drinking in. She turned to them as they came up the steps, a tiny, wrinkled lady with her silver hair neatly pinned up in a bun and partially hidden under her hat, a green silk _haori_-style jacket over a creamy tailored blouse and dark green skirt. She always dressed in a mixture of Japanese and western style that showed grace and elegance. And she always smiled for Tom, hugging him despite his protests that he'd get her dirty.

"We will miss you, Tomio-san," she said, patting his cheek and pressing a small box into his hands. "Thank you for all your work on my garden. I didn't think anyone could keep it up to my standards, but you have surpassed my dreams."

"Thank you for teaching me so much," he said, accepting the gift and bowing, as was their custom.

"You already knew plenty, and you taught me some, too." She said much more, and embarrassed Tom acutely, before they climbed into their big Chrysler, and, with Hideo peering over the dashboard, drove slowly away. Tom peeked into the box and found it full of ohagi, which made him smile. He set it on the seat of his truck, the paint on the door proudly proclaiming "Niitsu Garden and Landscape Services", before returning to the garden and continuing to pull the invaders from the fertile ground they had found.


	2. Chapter 2

I think I have to say that I don't own anything of Rurouni Kenshin or Highlander, even though none of those elements are obvious yet.

New Clients – October 1941

It was three weeks before Tom got to meet the new renters. He'd been aware of workmen around the place, repainting on the inside and doing other kinds of interior maintenance jobs, but none of that had changed his routine. It did mean he occasionally parked on the side of the road instead of in the driveway because of the other trucks. On this day, there were no trucks and no workmen around, although he thought he saw a car and some big boxes in the garage. It was a girl who found him first, as he unloaded the lawn mower from the back of the truck.

"Who're you?" she asked, peering through the slats of the gate that lead into the back yard. The gate and fence had been built to be about four feet tall, to provide a nice backdrop for the flowerbeds in front of them, and she wasn't quite tall enough to see over it. Tom left the mower and came to the gate, hunkering down so he could look at her the same way. Once he did, he realized she was older than he'd originally thought, but short in stature. Dressed in a flowery sun dress with a sweater over it and sandals on her sockless feet, she peered at him through over-grown black bangs, the rest of her hair caught up in a long, straight ponytail and tied with a sapphire ribbon that matched her eyes. Her eyes had only a slight epicanthic fold in an otherwise pointy-chinned, pixie-like Oriental face. He remembered eyes like that, that shape and that color. He mentally shook his head to dispel the memory. He'd never see those particular eyes again.

"My name is Tom. I work in the gardens and mow the grass. What's your name?"

"I'm Cho. Mama says it means "butterfly" in Japanese. I was named after Mama's sister."

"Is that right? Do you flutter about like a butterfly?"

"Of course not," she said, but she was swaying to some inner rhythm as she held onto the gate and talked to him that was reminiscent of a butterfly's flight. "I'm just named after a butterfly, but I can't do what they do. I think it would be fun to fly, though, don't you?" Cho's voice was lilting.

"That might be a lot of fun," Tom agreed, enchanted. This one had such a shining spirit.

"Cho-chan? Where are you?" A man's voice came from the back of the house.

"Here, Daddy! I'm talking to Tom," she yelled over her shoulder.

Tom grinned as he straightened to greet the man who came around the back corner of the house and down the walk. He was slender and about medium height, with straight black hair and kind-looking brown eyes. He appeared to have just taken off his suit jacket because he was rolling up the sleeves of a neat Oxford shirt in the early October heat as he came down the walk.

"Hi, I'm Tom Niitsu. I do the gardening and lawn care for the owners. They said they'd let the new renters know about the arrangement. I didn't realize anyone had moved in yet."

"We've got furniture and boxes in, but not much organization yet," the other man said in accented but clear English, shaking Tom's hand and bowing at the same time. "I am Sasuke Himura, and this is Cho, my eldest child." He didn't notice Tom stiffen momentarily because he'd looked down to tug affectionately on his daughter's ponytail. By the time he looked back up, Tom had relaxed again. "My wife, Masumi, is inside with our son, Tatsuya. He is supposed to be napping, but…" He trailed off as the sound of wailing came from the house and shrugged. "He is two."

Tom laughed. "Well, that says everything. I came to mow the grass, but I can come back later if you don't want to disturb the boy." He walked back to the mower.

"No, you might as well. It'll drown out the screaming so we don't annoy the neighbors." Sasuke's grin was wry. "He just won't admit that he's tired."

"They rarely do at that age," Tom said, bending over to unscrew the gas cap and fill the mower. Sasuke opened the gate and came through to look at the machine, Cho following behind.

"I haven't seen a motorized one before. We used a rotary in Japan before I left, but since we came here, I haven't had a yard to mow. We lived in an apartment over a grocery store down in Japantown. I am Assistant Director at the YMCA, and teach kendo and some other martial arts. Do you know anything about blades?"

"I know the ones on my pruners and my lawn mower," Tom grinned. "I got it last year, and I think I mortgaged my soul to do it, but it does make the work go faster so I can get on to the garden. That's the good stuff. I mow grass because that's what most people need, but my soul is in the garden. Learned from a little old Japanese guy in the neighborhood when I was a kid. It kept me out of trouble – I used to get into a lot of fights. That's the trouble with being small and neither totally Japanese nor totally white. Anyway, I've got clients all over the area, but working for the Takamatsu's here was just a joy. They started this garden with the owners' blessing thirty years ago, so when they needed an extra hand and hired me, it was pretty well established. I learned a ton more from them, and now part of the business is creating and maintaining gardens, both Japanese style and European style. I've got a client down the road who wanted an English cottage garden, so we started it five years ago and if I may say so myself, it's turned out quite nice. And since the Takamatsu's have moved on now, the owners of this place kept me on." It was the kind of patter he could keep up for hours without thinking much. Each persona had a name, each name a character, and each character a back-story. He'd become so used to it, so skilled, that Hollywood would have loved him if he'd cared to work in such an industry.

"So you were born in America?" Sasuke asked.

"Oh, yeah. Second generation born here, so I guess that makes me…_sansei_? Is that the word?"

"Yes, _sansei_. Your people must have come over in Meiji."

Tom looked puzzled and raised one hand to scratch at the back of his head. "Ummm, I think they came over in a boat…"

Sasuke laughed. "No, I meant the Meiji era, one of our periods of government. It was from your 1868 to 1912."

"Oh! Yeah, they came over in the early 1870's with a couple of kids, and had a couple more after they got here. My father was one of those. Most of them married other Japanese who were already here but my mother was Irish and I got her eyes and her temper – and a touch of the hair. It's gotten darker as I've gotten older, so it's not so noticeable now. And I've kinda grown out of the temper, but I can't do anything about the eyes."

"Ah. I wondered. My father has eyes like that. A bit darker, maybe. And his hair is a lighter red than yours. More obvious. He says his father had the same coloring, but insisted that he was a "true son of Japan", so we have always wondered. Maybe there is Irish back in our family and no one knows or admits to it."

"It's possible. The Irish aren't much for staying home, and some Japanese families accepted foreigners who adapted to Japanese ways. At least, that's what Dad said. He always said he did better at turning Mom into a Japanese wife than she did in turning him into an Irish husband. Does your daughter get her eyes from your father, then? They're very unusual, and very pretty."

"She gets those from her great-grandmother. My grandparents weren't exactly typical for Japanese." Sasuke grinned. "In a lot of ways, but I won't bore you with the details. Come, Cho-chan, we should let Mr. Niitsu get to work. When you're done, I'd like to talk to you about the schedule for the place."

"All right. You'll hear when I stop. These things are fast but noisy. I've also got some raking to do. It's been so hot and dry this year that a lot of the trees are shedding them early. We really need some rain."

Father and daughter retreated to the house as Tom maneuvered the mower onto the grass, adjusted the choke, and pulled the starter cord.

A couple of days later, as Sasuke worked with Cho on a kendo form in the grassy part of the yard, Tom was attempting to weed around the chrysanthemums. The constant distraction prevented him from doing a very good job. Cho went after it with a lot of spirit and a considerable amount of skill for her age. Sasuke would lead her through the form and then stand back to watch as she did it alone. On the third run-through, he would stop her and correct mistakes. Tom got so interested in watching the process that he'd stop weeding and just watch. Sasuke noticed.

"You can join in if you want. I'll give you a free trial lesson."

Tom laughed. 'Thanks, but I'd probably just whack myself in the head."

"Ah, it's only kendo," Sasuke said, with the kind of dismissiveness that comes from knowing something so thoroughly and teaching it so often that nothing about it was barrier anymore. "Learning is easy, although mastering it is hard."

"You haven't seen me prune large branches off of trees." Tom joked. "It's a dicey business at best. I'm pretty dangerous with sharp implements in my hands."

"Well, keep it in mind," Sasuke chuckled, turning back to Cho and her lesson. He'd heard those kinds of protests before. Sometimes they screwed up their courage and came in for lessons and sometimes they didn't. It'd be interesting to see which way Tom Niitsu went. He looked athletic enough to have good potential.

Author's note: I haven't used much Japanese yet, but there is more to come, so I suppose a bit of a glossary will be in order. For this chapter, and chapter 1, all you need to know is:

Ohagi - a sweet made of rice balls covered with sweet bean paste, sesame seeds, or soybean flour

Sansei - third generation. The grandchildren of the ones who came over on the boat.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hm, still don't own Rurouni Kenshin or Highlander. I keep waiting for a deed or something to drop into my lap, but it hasn't. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. If I haven't answered you, it's because I don't want to give anything away. Apologizes if the format changes a bit as I go through the chapters. I'm still figuring this out. --twp_

Fair Game – November 1941

Tom wandered aimlessly through the crowd, enjoying the sights, sounds, and confusion of the county fair. Music blared from the rides and some of the booths, hawkers shouted in an attempt to get passers-by to take their chances on a game, and children ran shrieking from one venue to the next, extorting their parents for money. He'd dressed up somewhat for the occasion, wearing tan, pleated-front slacks, a dark blue buttoned-down shirt, and brown sport coat, but he was nowhere near as dressed up as many of the fair-goers. Most looked like they'd just come from church in suits and ties, dresses and heels, and hats. Still his clothes were clean and it was a step up from his usual jeans and denim shirts. He could clean up well enough but he wasn't interested in being at the height of fashion. That was far too much work, and uncomfortable besides. And for a fair, it was best to not dress up too much. After all, there was a certain amount of time spent near livestock, if one was going to look at everything. He'd just come from watching a greased pig contest and a mutton-busting and he knew his shoes were going to need a good cleaning when he got home. It wasn't until someone grabbed his arm that he realized someone had, indeed, been calling his name. Or at least, the name he was using this time.

"Tom! Are you lost in your own world?" Sasuke was laughing at him.

"As a matter of fact, I was. Just contemplating the intricacies of mutton-busting and enjoying watching everyone go by. What's happening?" Something had to be up, since Sasuke was steering him along.

"I'm desperate; I need your help. Every year, the Y sponsors a couple of contests and I just found out one of our flower judges can't be here. Her sister's fallen and broken a hip. Would you mind judging for us? We need a panel of at least three. The others are part of the Garden Club, but you're a professional gardener, so that's a pretty good credential. Gosh, I'm so lucky to spot you in the crowd. I didn't know what we'd do."

"You're lucky, but am I?" Tom joked. "Those flower people can be vicious. It's size versus form versus color the whole way, and let's not pit the grandifloras against the floribundas or there will be hell to pay."

"See, I don't understand a word you say when you go on like that, but I knew you were perfect for this."

"Mum's the word."

"What?"

"Never mind," Tom grinned, and let himself be towed to several long tables with potted flowering plants lined up along them. They were clustered by species, and in some cases by color, giving the impression of a rainbow of nodding heads and fluttering leaves. As they got closer, Tom could hear a low-level drone as hundred of bees took advantage of the banquet.

"Mrs. Grayson, I got our third judge," Sasuke said, leading Tom to a tall, lean, iron-haired woman in a pinstriped blue suit. She turned smiling blue eyes on him.

"Wonderful; we're so happy you've volunteered. And you are?"

"Tom Niitsu, Niitsu Garden and Landscape Services," Tom replied, shaking her hand and spelling his last name for her, and then raising an eyebrow at Sasuke as she turned to write on a tag emblazoned with "Judge" across the top. "Volunteered?" he mouthed silently. Sasuke just grinned.

"I've got to run," he said. "Sack races start in five minutes, and my daughter's determined to out-jump everyone. Oh, and – mutton-busting…that's where the kids try to ride a sheep, right?"

Tom nodded. "Uh huh."

"Don't you dare mention it to Cho; she'll want to do that next year." Sasuke waved as he left. "See you later."

Mrs. Grayson presented Tom with his badge – the way she'd written his name made it look more like "Nutsu" than "Niitsu" – and then led the way down to the other judges, explaining the criteria as she went.

Tom spent the next couple of hours examining each plant in minute detail, taking notes on each one. It was soothing, really, to block out everything else and only consider the perfection of a petal, overall form, color, scent, health of the plant… He could easily lose himself in flowers. They asked for nothing and gave forth such beauty for their short blooming time. After he'd been through them once, he joined the other two judges and they went through the flowers together, comparing notes, discussing relative merit, and placing ribbons. He was contemplating getting dinner when he heard Cho's voice piping through the crowd.

"There he is! Mr. Niitsu!" She came skipping down the aisle between the tables; a red ribbon pinned on her sweater and grass stains on the knees of her white tights, and grabbed his hand. "Mama and Daddy want to know if you're done so you can have dinner with us."

"Yes, I am. I'd be happy to have dinner with you." He smiled and ran a hand down over her bangs, flattening them into her eyes for a moment. She tossed her head and grinned back at him, and he laughed outright, dropping his hand to her shoulder and squeezing it in a little hug. "I see you have a ribbon. What's red mean?"

"Second place. I wanted first, but one of the other kids jumped faster."

"Second's not bad."

"It's still not first," she pouted.

"As long as it's not second out of two, it's okay. And first is only important when there's food at the finish line," Tom winked at her, but Cho obviously didn't get it. Sasuke heard, however, and chuckled.

"Spoken like a man who thinks with his stomach."

"I missed a lot of meals at her age; food at the finish line means a lot," Tom said lightly, with a rueful grin lifting one corner of his mouth.

"Were you poor or was this a disciplinary problem?" Sasuke joked.

"I'm not sayin'," Tom grinned.

They walked a short distance to where Masumi sat on a blanket in a patch of grass under a tree, restraining Tatsuya from the spread of dishes she'd laid out; sushi, fried chicken, pickled vegetables, a rice dish, and sliced raw vegetables and fruit. There were other things still under covers to keep the bugs out that he couldn't see, but what he could looked delicious.

"There's another guy who knows what's important," Tom gestured at the little boy. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Himura. Hi, Tatsu-chan."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Niitsu. We're happy to have you join us," Masumi smiled. "Thank you for helping out today."

"It was nothing," Tom said, looking a little embarrassed as they settled around the food and began passing plates to each other. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner. I wish I had something to contribute."

"It is not necessary," Masumi said. "You are welcome and there is plenty. You saved my husband much trouble."

"Really, I enjoy looking at flowers almost as much as I love working with them. Oh, and I told you those flower people can be vicious, Mr. Himura. Mrs. Garcia and Mr. Jones almost got into a fight over the gladiolas. I had to referee. Although, honestly, I think Mrs. Garcia could've taken him."

"That's why I was panicking earlier, and please, call me Sasuke." Sasuke grinned. "Mrs. Petrovich usually gets between them to head off anything as they approach the gladiola display and without her, I could see disaster looming."

"I could have handled the snarky comments they were tossing back and forth, but when she started looking for empty flower pots to throw at him, I had to screw up my courage and step between them." Tom shook his head, his expression deadpan as he intoned: "I have never been so scared in my life."

"And you, the self-professed veteran of many youthful fights," Sasuke grinned.

"Never any of the flower pot throwing variety. Those clay pots can hurt!"

Sasuke and his family stopped after the plates had been handed out and faced Masumi. With a nod toward her, each said "_Itadakimasu_." She responded with a nod and said "_Itadakimasho_" in return, while Tom watched with an expression of polite interest.

"We are thanking her for preparing the meal," Sasuke explained.

"Ah. I thank you also," Tom responded, nodding to her. She smiled and nodded back, and they began choosing from the various dishes. Conversation definitely slowed for a while as everyone enjoyed the meal and laughed at Tom as he occasionally fumbled with the chopsticks he'd been given. Things he scooped up sometimes dribbled away between them before he could bring them to his mouth and things he grabbed with a pincer-like movement would twist or flip their way out if he wasn't careful. They had all gradually relaxed as they grew more comfortable with each other.

"It's been a long time," he grinned. "Eating with chopsticks was the norm with the Japanese parts of my family, but since I've been on my own, I've gotten a bit out of practice. I don't know what this dish is, but it's good," he said, pointing at a dish of spiced rice, shrimp, and vegetables.

"That is a special dish from my parents' restaurant in Tokyo. It doesn't really have a particular name; we always just called it "Grandmother's Special". My brother doesn't care for it and always said it was whatever Grandmother could throw in the pot without having to move."

"There must be something wrong with your brother. This is good."

"Then here, you must have more," Masumi said, scooping another spoonful onto his plate. Tom tucked into it with a will.

"Many of these are from the restaurant, and are a combination of Western-style foods with Japanese spices and cooking styles. My grandmother used to experiment a lot, trying different things to make the food of the Akabeko stand out and make people want to come back for more. Anything people liked, she wrote out a recipe, and the restaurant still uses them today."

"It works for me," Tom grinned. "I sometimes get tired of eating my own cooking."

After the main part of the meal was done, Masumi brought an apple pie from her basket. Tom dug into it with the fork she offered, while he laughed at her.

"Oh, yeah, bring out the forks now," he teased.

"It's hard to eat pie with chopsticks," she said, covering her smile with her hand.

Afterwards, they repacked the baskets and leaned back on the blanket, their voices getting quieter as Tatsuya developed droopy eyes and slowly nodded off, propped against Masumi's side. She pulled his thumb out of his mouth several times before he was fully asleep.

"We are trying so hard to break this habit but he keeps sneaking it in," she said, smiling fondly down at her son as Tom and Sasuke snickered at the silent battle.

"So what did you think of the Seals' performance this year?" Sasuke asked, referring to San Francisco's minor league baseball team.

"Pitiful, just pure pitiful. They haven't been the same since DiMaggio left," Tom said, lying on his back with his head resting on his folded hands and watching the clouds go by, totally unmindful of his dress clothes.

"He left in '36."

"Proves my point. When was the last time the Seals had a good season?"

"They haven't been that bad. You must be an Oakland guy."

"Nope, the Acorns don't do anything for me. Rainiers, now – they're quite the team. One of my former clients lives in Seattle now and sends me newspaper clipping just so he can gloat. It's about the only way I can follow the team. You can't get the games on the radio here unless they're playing the Seals or the Oaks. They're got quite a pennant streak going."

"Do you play? The Y has a team, you know," Sasuke prodded.

"Used to, but I don't anymore. When you've got your own business, it's work from can-see to can't-see. I'd spend the whole game fretting about what I could be doing instead. And then there's all the practices and what-not. I just don't have time for baseball anymore."

"Ever go to a game?"

"A few. Same problem, though. I just start fretting and don't pay any attention after a while. I used to go every now and then. You?"

"Masumi and I have gone to a couple, but that was before the kids came. We used to do a lot of stuff before the kids came: traveled a bit, went hiking, went to movies…"

"We went to Los Angeles on the bus once and got to see the Hollywood Stars," Masumi said.

"Movie stars or the baseball team?" Tom asked and Masumi laughed behind her hand again.

"The baseball team. Sasuke just had to go to a game while we were there."

"We couldn't get tickets for a show, but we could get them for a game. I just call it being flexible and taking advantage of an opportunity." Sasuke grinned. "But all that's a lot harder when the kids are little. It wasn't too bad with Cho. We'd just pack her up and take her along, but when Tatsu-chan came, that was the end of those little adventures."

"Onto a new set of little adventures," Masumi said, stroking the little boy's fine hair and trying to make it lay down a bit. Tatsuya's hair tended to stick out in all directions despite her efforts.

"How about you, Cho-chan? Do you play baseball?" Tom asked.

"That's a boy game," she said disparagingly.

"Argh!" Sasuke smacked his palm into his forehead as Tom laughed.

"That's what some people would say about kendo."

"But our family has always done kendo. We haven't always played baseball," she said, with infallible logic.

"If you can swing a baseball bat like you can swing that bamboo sword of yours, you could be a really good player."

Cho just made a face.

"Give it up, Tom; you won't win against her. I've been trying for a couple years."

"I'll have to work on that. So you used to hike? Ever get to Yosemite?" Tom asked.

"No. We wanted to. Maybe next summer," Sasuke said.

"Do you think Tatsu-chan will make it?" Masumi asked.

"I don't see why not. He falls asleep in the car, and once we're there, we can wear him out hiking."

"Take him to the lodge and let him look at all the stuffed animals. Cho might like it, too," Tom suggested. "They've got grizzlies and deer and mountain lions, and all kinds of critters mounted around the main rooms that you can look at. They're pretty interesting."

"It'll probably scare them to death," Masumi said.

Tom chuckled. "Not unless you do it in the dark of night in a lightning storm. That will scare them."

"Tha-a-at sounds like a story," Sasuke drawled, his lifted eyebrows encouraging Tom to elaborate.

"Not much of one. It must have been the bad weather that made me stay there – I can't think of any other reason. Usually I camp out. I don't remember why I was prowling around at night anymore, but I came around one corner just as the lightning flashed and there was this stuffed grizzly, mounted so it was standing on its hind legs with its front paws out like it was striking something. It must have been eight or nine feet tall." Tom laughed. "Scared me out of three years' growth."

Sasuke hooted. "Scared of a stuffed bear!"

"You'd be scared, too, if you saw one like that. Have you ever seen their claws? They're four or five inches long and they just look like big razors."

"Have you seen them out in the woods?" Cho asked, her eyes round with wonder and a touch of fear.

"Seen them, yes. Gotten close to them, no. I don't want to get close to them. But they don't come near the lodge often. You'd be safe there." Tom grabbed one of Cho's shoes and wiggled her foot. "You have grass stains on your knees, child. Were you hopping in a sack of hay or did you spill out?"

Cho giggled. "That was the three-legged race. Julia and me tried it, but we fell over and then we couldn't get up."

"Julia and I," Sasuke corrected gently, but his eyes were twinkling. "They started off strong but became a hazard for almost every other team when they went down. Funny how once that happens, everyone else seems pulled into it and then they all go down, pair by pair, and continually knock each other over trying to get up. It was like watching the Keystone Cops. There was quite a pile-up by the time it was done."

"We didn't even finish," Cho said, giggling. "They had to untie us so we could get up."

"See? That red ribbon for the sack race wasn't so bad after all, huh?" Tom laughed. "I wish I could have seen that."

Once Tatsuya had awakened – Masumi said he never took long naps so the family was willing to let him sleep when he did – they'd carried the baskets back to Sasuke's car and started a lazy ramble through the fair. They spent some time at the petting zoo cuddling bunnies, petting the ponies, and laughing at the antics of the energetic goats as the children tried to feed them handfuls of grain. As they started down the midway, Tatsuya wanted to walk on his own, which meant they went very slowly and went a long way towards driving Cho crazy, since she wanted to run from one attraction to the next and explore the sounds and bright colors. Tom worked at instilling some patience in her by playing "I Spy" with her.

They waited in the "colored" line for some of the rides, usually those that weren't as popular with the white fair-goers and were not scary for the children. Cho would have liked to have tried the new roller coaster and few of the other, more daring rides, but wasn't tall enough. Tom told Cho real-life stories about the rides they did do. On the carousel, he told her how jockeys learned to ride with their knees drawn up against the horses' sides so that they could control the horses with the lower part of their legs. On the bumper cars, he told her about what it was like to drive across America before there were paved roads or traffic laws. On the Sky Wheel, which had little cars that looked like airplanes with stubby wings that raised and lowered as the wheel went around, he told her about barnstormers flying in air shows and the people who would walk on the wings as the planes flew around the fields. It left Masumi and Sasuke plenty of time to focus more on their younger child, although they monitored Tom's and Cho's conversation.

At one point, while Tom and both children played with more cotton candy than they actually ate, Masumi leaned against her husband and said softly in Japanese, "He's really just a big kid, isn't he? Do you think he's done any of those things he's telling Cho about?"

Sasuke chuckled and answered in kind. "No, he's not old enough. I think he just knows about them. I'm starting to drastically revise his age downward, anyway. There's no way he's thirty. Twenty, maybe, but even that could be a stretch. I think he misses being part of a family. He rarely mentions one, except for some generalities like today, so I'm guessing he doesn't have much or he's not close with any of them. He's never said anything about siblings or his parents. Perhaps he was the only child and his parents are gone."

"He can be part of our family. Our friends in Japantown are so far away, it seems, and all of our families are still in Japan. I know you miss your brothers."

Sasuke laughed. "Hard to believe, they picked on me so. But they always stood up for me, too. Yes, I miss them. And there's something about him that's just like them: friendly, teasing, helpful, and occasionally that 'I-know-something-I'm-not-going-to-share' attitude guaranteed to drive a little brother crazy."

They continued down the midway, with people pressing close on either side, the barkers calling out their games and shows, and the music from the rides blaring over all. Tom's enthusiasm for the fair was catching and Sasuke found himself failing miserably at popping balloons with darts, while Tom smugly handed a stuffed panda to a beaming Cho.

"Ya want I should get'cha a pair of Coke bottles, Himura? Ya might see better," Tom quipped.

"Yeah, yeah. Careful or I'll dot your eye," Sasuke said, turning and pretending to aim his remaining dart at Tom. He missed with that one, too, when he finally lined it up on one of the balloons, all of which stirred on the faintest breeze. He redeemed himself by ringing the bell at the strongman's stall, while Tom couldn't quite get the ringer there, even though he jumped with the hammer to give it more force.

"Puny muscles, Niitsu," Sasuke said, handing the prize – a pretty porcelain butterfly Masumi had pointed to on the prize table – to his wife.

"You weigh more than I do, Fatty," was Tom's insolent retort, though he was grinning when he said it. Sasuke grinned, too. It really was like hanging out with one of his brothers. It sparked a carnival game competition between the two of them as they walked down the main thoroughfare.

By the end of the day, with her parents' permission, Cho was calling him "Uncle Tom" and hanging onto his hand.

"Daddy, can I ride the Ferris wheel? Please?" Cho turned big blue eyes on her father, but Sasuke had apparently built up immunity.

"Cho, I told you; you're not big enough yet."

"But I'm eight years old. Almost nine!"

"It's not about how old you are. You're still too small, and you might slip out under the bar," Sasuke said. "It's not really necessary to ride the Ferris wheel to have a good time."

"But I want to." There was a distinct whine starting to creep into Cho's voice.

"Cho. Remember how your behavior reflects on all of us." Sasuke's voice was firm and Cho subsided into a momentary sulk. Then she said, "Uncle Tom, you'll ride it with me, won't you?"

"No, Cho-chan, I won't," Tom said, as firm as her father, but with a touch more kindness.

"Please?"

"If your father says 'no', that's the answer you get from me."

"I thought you were my friend," she pouted.

"I am your friend. That's why I understand the importance of fathers and doing what they say. Mothers, too. You're lucky to have them.

"You don't have a mom or a dad?"

He didn't say anything; just smiled with a touch of sadness in his eyes and ruffled her hair. "It's good being a newly-appointed uncle."

They stayed for a little while after dark so the children could see the lights of the midway and the rides against the dark, star-strewn sky, and then Tom gave Cho a piggy-back ride while Sasuke carried a worn-out Tatsuya back to the car. Masumi carried the smaller prizes in her purse, although she threatened to "lose" the tin horn Tom had picked out for Tatsuya. The little boy had blown it almost constantly for the first half hour after it had landed in his hands. Cho climbed into the back seat, still hugging her panda, which she had refused to let go of no matter what they did. Masumi held Tatsuya after she got herself seated and tucked a blanket around him, and Sasuke slid behind the wheel. By the time the Himuras had bumped their way out of the parking lot and turned onto the road, even Cho was asleep, and didn't join her parents in waving to the lone figure they'd left behind.

Tom waved back and then started for his truck, which was parked on the other side of the lot.

-------------------------------------------------

_Vocabulary_

_Itadakimasu – I will eat now_

_Itadakimasho – Let us all partake_


	4. Chapter 4

_Still don't own Rurouni Kenshin or Highlander…sigh._

_If you're enjoying the story thus far, drop sueb262 a line and thank her for her fine beta work. Without her wonderful insight and encouragement, the story wouldn't be as good as it is and I would never have had the courage to publish it. She was able to pull things out of me that I didn't realize were there, and that has made the creation of this story even more enjoyable for me, and hopefully for you, the reader, as well. Thanks, bunches, Sue! --twp_

_On with the show…_

History Lesson

Two days after the fair, Cho was sitting on a bench on the back patio helping her mother snap beans for canning while Masumi alternately snapped beans and checked on the batch already processing in the canner. It was a sultry day for late in November, and every time Masumi came out of the house, she was wiping sweat from her brow and cheeks. Tom was trimming the low hedge along the garden wall and tossing Tatsuya's ball back to him every time the little boy managed to throw it over the wall. Masumi had already tried to get the boy to "stop bothering Uncle Tom when he's trying to work", but Tatsuya had cheerfully ignored the order and Tom insisted it wasn't a problem. The ball didn't make it over very often. When Sasuke pulled into the driveway, Cho set her bean bowl on the picnic table and ran to greet him.

"Daddy, can you help me with my school report? We have to do it on our family and I already got Mama's side. Now I need yours."

"Let me get changed and catch my breath," he smiled. "And we need to see if Mama's going to have dinner soon. We don't want to get in the way." He looked inquiringly at Masumi.

"I was just going to do a cold salmon salad. It's too hot to be cooking. Too hot to be canning, too, but if we don't get these done, they'll go bad, and Mrs. Anderson was so kind in bringing them from her garden. I was thinking we'd eat later, unless you're hungry now."

"No, I'm fine. I'll get changed, then, and be right out. Cho and I can work on the wall in the shade so we're not in your way." He crossed the patch of lawn and grabbed Tatsuya around the waist, flipping him upside down and blowing raspberries on the exposed belly until the little boy shrieked with laughter. "How are you, Dragon-boy? Have you had a good day?"

Tatsuya nodded vigorously and held out his ball. "Ball?" he asked hopefully.

"Later. Let me help your sister with her homework first. Homework is important," he stressed, noting the crestfallen look.

"Want ball," Tatsuya insisted.

"We will, but later. Work first; play later."

Tatsuya's lower lip stuck out mutinously, then he turned and threw it in the direction of the wall. Miraculously, it made it over, and Tom dutifully picked it up and tossed it back. It brought the smile back to Tatsuya's face.

" 'Evening, Tom. You know what that means, don't you?" Sasuke asked as Tatsuya threw the ball over the wall again.

"Yep, been doing it for about fifteen minutes now," Tom said in greeting. "Your boy doesn't give up."

"Himuras are tenacious; we don't give up easy. I'm going to have Cho write that down," he laughed and headed to the house to change out of his suit. When he came back, Cho had already run in for everything she needed and back out, and was now sitting with her notebook and pencil on the wall beside her and was showing Tom pictures in the family photo album under Masumi's supervision.

"And this one is Grandma and Grandpa Seikihara; they are Mama's parents. Grandma Seikihara passed away years ago when Mama was a teenager, but Grandpa Seikihara lives in Tokyo and runs a restaurant called Aka..Aka..." She consulted her notebook. "Akabeko. Mama said she worked there before she married Daddy and their families have been friends forever."

"They look like nice people," Tom said. "And the restaurant looks busy. See all the people in the background?"

"They serve Western food, and people really like it," Cho said, a little importantly.

"I know. We had some at the fair, remember? It was really good."

"Oh, yeah. And this one is Mama and Daddy right after they came to America."

Tom looked at the picture of a younger version of his clients standing on either side of a sign at the bottom of a ship's gangway, smiling broadly. Masumi was waving at the camera – her hand was a blur – and Sasuke was pointing at the words "San Francisco, USA" on the sign. Both were wearing western style clothing; Sasuke's fedora was barely hanging on, it was pushed back so far on his head.

"Is she boring you with all our relations?" Sasuke grinned.

"Not at all. I like looking at pictures from Japan. The architecture is so different from here, and if there's a garden in the background, I can try to get ideas. Of course, this one makes you look like a couple tourists."

"We were pretty excited to get here. It was a long trip across the ocean and we were more than ready to be off the ship. We had a stranger take that picture with our camera and I got a copy to send to Japan to show we'd made it. This is me in front of the YMCA, where I work." Sasuke pointed out another picture. "The two big hulking guys next to me were my first students. The one on the right is now a stuntman in Los Angeles, and still practices with a dojo down there. He works the stuff into his fight scenes when he can. I guess he's getting a good reputation for choreographing fights, too. The one on the left is Todd Swindon. He's still with me, but really, he should have his own dojo now. He's got a lot of talent and he's a fine teacher."

"You look really, really short in this picture."

"Thanks, you're one to talk. They are both well over six feet, but the nicest guys. _They_ never ribbed me about being short."

"Of course not. You were _sensei_ and could whup their butts," Tom grinned.

"Could probably whup yours, too," Sasuke said mildly, and Tom just grinned wider.

Sasuke took the photo album from Cho and flipped to a different section before setting it so that it faced her and, consequently, Tom, since he was behind her.

"Okay, you need to take notes now, Cho. These are my parents, Kenji and Chizuru Himura, in the yard of the dojo they run in Tokyo," he told Cho. "They teach kendo, primarily, and other martial arts like aikido and judo, too. Well, Kenji teaches kendo in the same style, of course, that I teach. Chizuru keeps the house and helps with the business aspect of running the school. There's a garden in the background for you, Tom."

"I see that," Tom said, studying the picture as Cho wrote down what her father had said.

"What style of kendo do we practice?" Sasuke asked.

"Kamiya Kasshin Ryu," Cho answered promptly. "It is 'the sword that protects' by teaching people self confidence and leadership."

"Very good. Where did it come from?"

"Great-great Grandpa Kamiya who fought in the revolution but didn't like killing, so he tried to find a way to use his sword to protect people by helping them have confidence to avoid fights and the discipline to turn away attacks from people who wanted to fight. Do we have a picture of him, Daddy?"

"No, there are no pictures from that time. Who did he pass his sword style on to?"

"His daughter, my Great-grandma Kaoru Kamiya Himura, who kept the school going when her father died. That's why our style encourages girls to practice kendo, because if she hadn't known how to do it, it would have died out."

"That's right." Sasuke flipped a page and pointed to a somewhat grainy black-and-white picture of a thirty-ish looking woman and a teenage boy, both in gi and hakama, standing next to the dojo entrance. "That's her with your Grandpa Kenji after they celebrated his coming-of-age. She was killed a few months later."

Cho looked up from her writing. "How?"

It was a question Tom had wanted to ask, but hadn't been able to find his voice as his eyes devoured the picture.

"She was shot in the market when she and Kenji were shopping. Japan was still very unsettled then and there were conflicts with their dealings in China and Korea and Russia. A lot of the debate ended up in violence in the streets as supporters of the various factions argued with each other. It was a bad time."

"So then Grandpa Kenji ran the dojo," Cho said.

"Yes, he and Grandma Kaoru's first student, Myojin-_sensei_, kept it going and they had so many students that they finally created another dojo in uptown Tokyo that Myojin-_sensei_ ran. They were two of the best swordsmen in Japan, and everyone wanted to learn from them. Grandpa Kenji's sister, Hikari, and brother, Takayoshi, also helped out until Aunt Hikari got married and started her own family, and Uncle Yoshi went to college. He was the first one in the family to attend and graduate from a university, and now he researches the earth and how it works. So despite all the tragedy, the family was very successful."

Sasuke tapped another picture. "This one's kind of blurry, but that's Father on the right, teaching. I took this picture, but I think that was after Uncle Yoshi had taken the camera apart to see how it worked, and then put it back together again. Things often don't work quite right after he does that, but he still takes things apart. Drives everyone crazy."

Tom snorted a laugh. "If he ever visits, remind me to hide the lawnmower."

Sasuke chuckled. "With all the war talk going on, I doubt he will visit, but I'd love for him to be here. He loves nature best, but he's still just like a little kid about almost everything and obviously he's dangerous with technology. He just gets so excited that he doesn't think about how he has to put it together again."

"Does he practice kendo, too?"

"He knows it, but he doesn't really practice it. He's something of a mad scientist, or inventor, or…naturalist. Are there such things as mad naturalists? He'd love the mountains and the forests… He just likes to examine everything and try to figure out how it all works."

"If he ever gets here, you'll have to take him to Yosemite, then."

"What about Great-grandpa Himura? He was a war hero, too, right?" Cho asked, after finishing another sentence. She hadn't tried to get everything the two men were talking about, just a sentence about Great-Uncle Yoshi the scientist.

"Yes, he was very famous in the revolution and the new Meiji government offered him a job, but he didn't take it. He wandered all over Japan until he met your Great-grandmother and settled down and got married. He was reportedly an excellent swordsman, but never passed his style on to anyone, so now it's lost. Myojin-_sensei_ and Grandpa Kenji can do a little of it, but they aren't really trained in it. After Grandpa Kenji was born, your Great-grandpa Kenshin took some odd jobs from the government when there was a disaster like a tsunami or an earthquake because he was very organized and liked helping people, but mostly he kept the dojo buildings in good repair and did housework." Sasuke glanced up at Tom. "I told you our family was a little weird."

"Not so weird," Tom said. "Any honest work is good work."

"That it is."

"Which reminds me that I really should be working. I won't charge for the last half hour," Tom said.

"Don't worry about it."

"Do we have pictures?" Cho asked.

"No, I don't. Grandpa Kenji has a couple pictures of your great-grandparents, but since we don't have a negative for either of them, it's hard to make copies. I wanted to do that before we came to America, but it was expensive and we had to save our money for coming here. I keep meaning to send money and ask him to have copies made, but I haven't yet. In the pictures, he looks a lot like your Grandpa Kenji, except that he had two scars that crossed on his cheek. I've heard his coloring was the same, with red hair and violet eyes, and in the pictures, his hair does look lighter than Grandma Kaoru's black hair. Aunt Hikari has violet eyes, too, but no one else in the family does, and no one else has the red hair, either. We all take after Mother's side of the family when it comes to coloring. My Uncle Yoshi, though, has blue eyes just like yours and Grandma Kaoru's."

"Okay," Cho said, laboriously writing a bit more. "So your mother's family is…?"

"She was born Chizuru Sagara, and she was the oldest of three children; the other two were boys. Are boys. They are all still alive." Sasuke flipped the album page. "This is after her wedding, and those two are her brothers. They are the reason the dojo added aikido and judo to what is taught there. Their father, Sanosuke, who I am named after, wasn't a swordsman at all, but he was a very strong fist-fighter, and the boys learned not only from him, but at other martial arts schools that taught aikido and judo. They are very, very good, and wanted to open their own school, but it's pretty expensive, so they talked with Grandpa Kenji about it after the wedding, and they decided to share the dojo space and offer a variety of martial arts classes. That's another reason why the dojo has been so successful. Uncle Sozo specializes in aikido, and Uncle Tsukioka concentrates on judo, and they both teach out of the uptown dojo as well as the main one downtown. Their mother, Megumi, was a doctor, which was a pretty useful thing to have in a family of fighters. She kept up her doctor practice even after she was married because she enjoyed it and knew people were counting on her. I think she was a little disappointed that none of the kids wanted to learn medicine." He pointed to another picture, from the same time period as the wedding. "This is Grandma Chizuru's family around her and Grandpa Kenji."

"What about your brothers and sisters?" Cho asked. "And I have cousins in Japan, too, right?"

"Yes. This is going to be a long paper, Cho-chan, if you have to say something about all of us. I have three brothers and two sisters."

"But I have Mama's brother and sister, too, so I can't not have yours." She looked at the stubby point of her pencil. "But I have to sharpen my pencil first, before we go on." She slid off the wall and ran into the house. Tom had moved down the hedge, though he hadn't gone too far. The bonsai-style evergreen in the corner of the wall where the stairs came down off the patio required meticulous clipping to keep it in shape.

"So what's your family like?" Sasuke asked.

"Dead or otherwise uncommunicative, mostly," Tom said bluntly.

"That's too bad. What happened?" Sasuke knew it was bad manners to ask, but he somehow couldn't help himself. Part of having family was knowing about them, and having offered Tom a place in their family, he wanted to know.

"We never mixed too much with the Japanese half of the family; they had a hard time accepting Mom even though she tried really hard to understand the culture and do things their way," Tom said, thinking fast. Usually his bluntness put people off and they left him with his secrets. Having just found out Sasuke's maternal family was Sagara, he should have known better. "After my grandparents died, the rest just stopped inviting us to family functions and Dad was too proud to push the point. Since he was born and raised here, he was more American than the rest and had a more open attitude toward most things, but it really hurt him that they didn't accept his wife or kids. But the white population didn't accept us, either. Mom's family wasn't real keen on her marrying a Japanese guy, so it was the same thing all over again. My sister was real sensitive to that and was very shy, but I just got into fights. It was worse after they died. I was on a hiking trip in Yosemite and they went out on the bay in a little boat with some friends and a storm blew up. Everyone drowned. I came back to nothing. I mean, I got the house, which was in Mom's name because Dad couldn't own property, but no family. It took me a little while to turn it around, and if it hadn't been for Dad's friend, Hakujiro-san, checking up on me and using gardening as therapy, it could have been pretty bad."

"Never started your own family?" Sasuke couldn't help asking, although he could feel Tom's emotional wall coming up, holding him at a distance.

"Tried. My wife is dead. I never wanted another," Tom said shortly. "Gardens are better. Plants are easier to replace if they don't make it."

"I'm sorry." Sasuke traced the mortar between the rocks in the wall, while Tom snipped with a bit more vigor than he had been. After the silence had stretched for a bit, Sasuke said, "You can still be part of ours, if you want."

Tom stopped clipping and gave the other man a sidelong look. Then he resumed work without saying anything, but the barest hint of a smile curled one corner of his mouth. It was only after Sasuke had left to see what was keeping Cho that Tom murmured, "Himuras are tenacious and Sagaras are stubborn. You get it from both sides."


	5. Chapter 5

Tears and Fears – December 8, 1941

Tom looked up as he heard the school bus stop in front of the Himura house. In the weeks since the family had moved in, Cho had taken to following him around the garden whenever he was there, for which her parents apologized profusely and Tom just laughed and waved them off. "She doesn't bother me," he'd say, and patiently answered her endless questions and taught her about the garden. Her lively interest brightened his day. He never said he arranged his schedule so that when he needed to be there, he was there when she came home from school. This time when she got off the bus, she didn't turn and wave to the bus driver and she looked stiff as she quickly walked towards the house, head tilted down as if examining the ground the whole way. There was none of the usual bounce in her step, and she slung her book bag on the back step without much energy. When she spied him in the garden, she burst into silent tears and ran to him. Tom dropped his spade and opened his arms to her.

"Oh, honey, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Billy Hillman called me a 'dirty Jap' on the bus and everyone stared and then they all looked away and no one would talk to me. Not even Maggie Stone, and I thought we were friends," she sobbed into his chest.

"Ah. And what did you say to Billy? Or did you just hit him?" Cho was inclined to strike out at people who insulted her, not unlike another blue-eyed woman he'd known.

"I told him I was as American as he was. Mama and Daddy say I'm American. Aren't I?" She looked up him with big watery sapphire eyes and his heart turned over.

"Of course you are." He nodded to give the words emphasis.

"And I didn't hit him. Daddy says I shouldn't. Roger Whistler tried to hit me in the head with his baseball glove on his way off the bus, but I blocked it with my arm like Daddy showed me."

"What did your bus driver do?"

"Nothing. I think she didn't know. Billy said it real quiet, like a hiss, and we were near the back of the bus. I don't think she saw Roger, either. He just did it walking past."

"You will have to tell your mother, so she can talk to the school."

"I don't want to tell Mama. Then they'll all laugh at me and call me a baby. And Mama might keep me home from school. I don't want them to think I'm afraid of them and staying home." She buried her face in his chest again and her next words were muffled. "Billy's sat next to me in school all year. How come he's mean to me now?"

"Children repeat what their parents say, right? Don't you?"

"Some times."

"Billy's parents are saying mean things right now because they're angry over what happened yesterday. Maybe they're scared, too. Billy's repeating them. I don't know if he's angry or scared, but he knows he'll get a reaction out of you. Now he knows that makes you cry, he might say it again to see if he gets the same reaction. You did right in saying you're American. If he says it again, you remind him you're American. And don't ever let anybody hit you. You were right in blocking, too, but make sure you don't hit back. That'll get you in trouble, because your teachers and the bus driver might not see what the Billys and Rogers do, but if you hit back, they're sure to see that. You're not the one who needs to be in trouble, right?"

She nodded and wiped her eyes off on her sleeve. Tom offered her his bandana to blow her nose on.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Now how about you get changed into some play clothes and come out and help me plant bulbs so we have flowers this spring?

"Okay." She returned up the path to the house much more slowly than she'd come down it, picking up her books and carrying them inside. It took a while for her to come back out, and Tom hoped she was talking to her mother as he'd suggested. When she did come back, still walking and not skipping like she normally would, she didn't seem inclined to talk, so he let her be, simply directing her to what he wanted her to do and letting her make up her mind when she wanted to voice her thoughts. Together, they smoothed out the ground he'd spaded up and he took a little trowel to dig holes for the bulbs.

"Here, put the pointy side up and the fat side down," Tom said later, handing a bulb to Cho as she knelt next to him. She sat on he heels to examine it.

"That one's a daffodil, so it's pretty big and fat. The hairy part at the bottom is where the roots will be," he explained. "Some bulbs, like hyacinths, aren't so big, and others are kind of flat, so it's hard to tell which side is up unless you look for the roots. But unless you put them totally upside down, most bulbs are pretty forgiving and they'll grow even if they're sideways."

Clamping onto her lower lip with her teeth, she set the bulb precisely where he indicated as if were the most important thing in the world. Her hands and the knees of her pink corduroy dungarees were solid brown with dirt.

"I _have_ to go to school tomorrow," Cho said, patting dirt over the bulb the way Tom showed her. "Tomorrow is library day, and I'm going to get a new book. I've read 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz' and 'The Marvelous Land of Oz' and I was going to borrow 'Ozma of Oz'. Have you read any of them?"

"Ummm, I saw the movie," Tom said, suddenly feeling as if he'd fallen short somewhere and hoping the movie would redeem him. He read whenever he had the time since it was a good way to learn about society or the world, but children's books weren't generally on the list. He pointed at the hole he'd just dug and Cho placed another bulb precisely in the middle.

"That was only the first one and it wasn't quite like the book. Mama and Daddy took me to see it when I was six. I thought it was pretty except for the witch. She was scary and I hid under Mama's coat. There are a whole bunch more books and I want to read them all. It's not so scary reading them because when I get scared, I can put the book down, and then I go play with Tatsu-chan or help Mama or practice on the piano. I told Mama about Billy and Roger like you said and she said she was going to call the school, but she didn't know if they'd do anything about it. Maybe Daddy will have to call. Why wouldn't they do anything?"

"There are bad things going on in the world," Tom said seriously, digging a new hole. "And people are funny…in a weird kind of way… that sometimes when things go bad, they don't really see it as bad. So they might see Billy and Roger just doing normal boy things and not think that calling you bad names or picking on you is that big a deal. Or because of what happened yesterday, they might think it's okay for the boys to pick on a Japanese girl. There aren't very many in your school, are there?"

"No, just two other girls and a boy, and they're older than me, so I don't really know them. I think the boy and one of the girls are brother and sister." Cho placed another bulb and looked up at him. "Mama was crying yesterday. I've never seen Mama cry," she confided.

"I felt like crying, too," Tom muttered beneath his breath, handing her the last bulb.

"So did I," came Sasuke's voice from behind them. They hadn't heard his car pull up or his feet on the gravel path.

"Daddy!" Cho came off the ground like she was spring-loaded, leaping into her father arms. He gave her a hug before setting her on her feet. "Honey, can you go in the house and get cleaned up and help Mama with Tatsu-chan before dinner? I need to talk to Tom for a few minutes."

"Okay," she chirped, and scampered up the path towards the house. Then she ran back and placed the bulb in the hole. "Oops," she giggled, and ran back towards the house. Tom filled the hole and patted dirt over the bulb as Sasuke sank down on a nearby bench, placing his hat on the seat next to him and leaning his elbows onto his knees.

"Some of my students didn't show up for class this afternoon, and at the end of the hour, a couple who did come apologized and said they wouldn't be back. Then a guy spit at me as I was walking across the parking lot to my car. I didn't even know him. After yesterday, no one wants to associate with anyone or anything Japanese. I can't believe they did this while making peace talk in Washington. What is Emperor Hirohito thinking?"

"He has become consumed by power," Tom said, drawing patterns into the smoothed dirt at his knee. "He is like the playground bully, talking tough with no one paying him much mind so now he feels he must prove it. I wouldn't have thought he'd do anything like this with peace talks going on, either. Japan has always been strong about things like honor and integrity, but it's possible that since they are dealing with another country instead of internally, the rules are different."

"I had thought of that. I wonder if he is applying the theory of outside and inside on a very large scale. You have heard of outside and inside?"

"A little."

"Inside people are your family, friends, close business associates – anyone you deal with closely and you like. They are treated with utmost courtesy. Outside people are everyone else – people you don't know, or don't like. If you don't know or don't like them, they pretty much don't exist. You ignore them. It is a way of dealing with so many people in so small a country, like Japan. Like pretending you don't hear your neighbors shouting at each other even though they are only fifty feet away and all the houses have paper walls. It was something Masumi and I have had to re-learn – how to deal with people here in America where no one thinks like that, or even knows of it. All foreigners are outside. The Japanese embassy people in Washington who deal with the politicians here are polite to them because they are inside – close business associates – but to the Emperor and his staff, the American government are outside people, and therefore different rules for behavior. They might even have instructed the people at the embassy to engage in talks to distract them from a build-up or mobilization of planes and support because it's okay to attack outside people whom you see as a threat. Or might have something you want. Japan has never shied away from attacking larger countries if the politicians see an advantage."

"Could be. While America has been watching the war in Europe, she's made no effort to prepare to help, or even defend herself in the possibility that it would spread here. We've just been sitting still watching it all go by and hoping the Europeans will resolve their problems. But I think Hirohito has made a grave mistake. Americans are content to let things go by if they go by. But they're not much on Asian humility or European subservience. If something gets in their face, they go after whatever it is. Japan has just gotten in America's face, and I think the results are going to be bad for all of us. In most of the country, where maybe there aren't many Japanese settled, things might not change too much, but here on the coast where there are so many and we are close, relatively speaking, to the "mother country", I think things are going to be very bad. Your experience today seems to indicate it, and I've had some of that, too. My mixed blood appearance and citizenship isn't deflecting any of the anger that yesterday's attack caused. I had a couple clients tell me not to come around; they've decided to hire someone else. They're newer clients and don't know me, so they are judging by name and appearance and associating me very closely with Japan. Several of the established ones called to make sure I _would_ be coming around because they didn't want to lose me. I think there will be a mix of attitudes here, but you know the loudest are the ones who usually have their way in a time like this when emotion is running high. All the usual discrimination we see is going to quadruple. I can feel it."

"I'm worried, Tom. We came to America because we thought we'd have more opportunity here than we had in Tokyo as a fourth son and his family, and yet…now this happens. Everyone in the Japanese community I've talked to today is scared, and I've never gotten so many dirty looks from people outside the Japanese community. Like somehow it's my fault Pearl Harbor got bombed. When it came on the radio yesterday…" He shook his head. "We couldn't believe it. We just stared at it like it was that Martian story all over again. I mean, it seemed just as believable that Japan would attack America during peace talks as having Martians come over in space ships and start blasting people with strange weapons. I've heard a lot of the community leaders got picked up by the FBI, wherever they happened to be and hauled off no one knows where. Bankers and businessmen with close ties to Japan, mostly. I tried calling a couple friends yesterday to find out news and a stranger would answer the phone and tell me the family was 'indisposed'. I couldn't even talk to their wives. I've got a bad feeling about this. What if the Y decides that they can't have a Japanese assistant director; that maybe the members won't like it and they'll have to fire me? I won't be able to pay the rent… Masumi just told me a couple days ago we're going to have another baby in late spring or early summer. I'm not sure I'm even going to have a home for it." He sighed heavily and dropped his head into his hands, massaging his forehead. "I've been in America for almost ten years and this is the first time I've felt so unwelcome. I mean, there's always been some tension – you can't be a citizen, you are discouraged from living outside the "Japanese" neighborhoods, can't own property - but even when we first got off the boat and didn't speak hardly any English, it didn't feel this bad. We worked so hard, took classes at night so we could speak better, volunteered in the community…everything we could do to try to fit in and become Americans. We were so lucky to find someone who would rent a house up here to us so we could become more main-stream American instead of sitting in Japantown and seeming like we were still in Tokyo. Now they're saying we're still Japanese."

Tom's laugh was low and short and humorless. "Even if you'd been born here, they'd still call you Japanese. I told you, no one is looking at me as if I'm anything else. I don't know if it's that way through the rest of the country. Maybe it's just here because the West Coast has so many, or because so many stay in those little ethnic communities. I'd like to believe that elsewhere, you're just accepted for being who you are, not for where you came from. I believe in America; in what it stands for, or what it's supposed to, and not everyone treats you bad if you're a little different. After all, America's a melting pot; everyone is supposed to be a little different but still American. Democracy, freedom, opportunity, self-governing…" Tom ran his fingers through the dirt, wiping out the designs. "I guess all we can do is wait and see, but I think it's going to get ugly. Soon." He stood up and dusted off the seat of his pants. "I need to get down to Mrs. Martins' and do some raking. She's got silver maples and hers are always the last trees on the block to lose their leaves."

"Before you go, I've a favor to ask. If…something happens and I'm not here…could you keep an eye on Masumi and the kids? Help her out? We have friends in Japantown, but very few have cars and the cable cars and ferry schedules aren't very convenient for getting here. And we haven't lived up here long enough to have many friends yet – just Bob and Karen Anderson across the street. Nice people with a couple kids near Cho's age, but I wouldn't want to ask them for help. We just don't know them that well yet. I'd feel better knowing someone I trust is looking out for my family." He was embarrassed to have to ask. It was like admitting he couldn't care for them himself, but he'd heard rumors that it wasn't only leaders or executives in the Japanese community and businesses that were being picked up. A couple of the men had been karate or kendo instructors, which meant that the FBI could be looking for him soon. It might just be a matter of time. He looked up at Tom, who was regarding him thoughtfully. 'Maybe,' he thought, 'Tom has heard those rumors, too.'

Tom held out his hand. "You don't have to ask. I'll stop by between work visits, and you have my number. If she needs me, she can call any time."

Sasuke grasped the offered hand gratefully. "Thanks."

_----------------_

_Author's Note:_

_The "Martian story" Sasuke refers to is Mercury Theater's broadcast of H.G. Well's "War of the Worlds" which aired on the radio on October 30, 1938. Many people missed the disclaimer that the broadcast was a fictional dramatization (hey, it's __theater__!) and it caused quite a lot of panic._


	6. Chapter 6

The Escalation of Uneasiness - Dec. 9, 1941

It was late afternoon the next day and Sasuke had the students lined up by rank in pairs down the length of the room used as a dojo on some days and a dance room on others. As he counted in Japanese, they performed the same drill: low rank attacking and high rank blocking and counter-attacking. The dojo rang with yells from the students on every counter attack. He studied each pair as they worked, occasionally stopping the count to point out an individual flaw or make a more general comment about technique or form. The noise of the door opening behind him was almost drowned out, but he did catch it, counting as he turned to see why anyone was entering. The short, dapper man in the front was Dale Jordan, director of the YMCA, and a man Sasuke knew well and liked. It was easy to see his agitation as he was followed into the room by two men in starched, pressed suits who were just ahead of two MP's bearing rifles in a subtly threatening position. Sasuke turned back to his students and kept counting, forcing them to pay attention to the work at hand. Distractions were not allowed. When he reached ten, he stopped, but the students stayed ready to continue once he started counting again.

"Mr. Swindon," he said to the highest rank student on his left, a tall, fit blue-eyed blond. "Take up the count for the next ten, and then the rest of the _dan_ will follow; ten each."

"Yes, Sir!" the class thundered, and Todd Swindon took over, counting out in a voice like the clarion of war. Sasuke had always liked the man's clear voice, but thought that today, perhaps, the description of it that ran through his head was as apt as it was unwelcome. He pushed the thought aside and turned towards the intruders.

"How can I help you gentlemen?" he asked, but his eyes were on Mr. Jordan.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Himura, but Mr. Swan and Mr. Colridge are from the FBI and would like you and your Japanese students to go with them for questioning."

"May I ask about on what we will be questioned?"

"No, you may not," said Mr. Swan, the older suit, a grim-faced, square-jawed, very un-swan-like man that Sasuke decided to dislike just on general purposes. Accordingly, he went into an excessively polite manner that had nothing that could be pointed to as being offensive, and yet he knew would rile the man. A part of his brain told him that he wasn't in a position where he should irritate anyone with a measure of authority, but Swan struck him as a bully and Sasuke despised bullies. He would much rather have dealt with Colridge, who was younger and trying not to show the sympathy he so obviously felt.

"Would it be possible to address my students so that they may be aware of the changes that may result to this program? I'm sure it would help Mr. Jordan immensely since he knows little about kendo," he bowed politely to Mr. Jordan, "and this will assist in the smooth transition of this class."

"Make it quick," the man snapped, and Sasuke smiled inside as he turned back to his students, though none of it showed on his face. Really, what else could the man say with the director looking on? But down in the pit of his stomach, a cold ball of fear started to form. The rumors were right about martial arts instructors, and Sasuke had no idea what this would mean for his family.

"Class, attention!" he ordered, voice carrying over the count and stopping it immediately. Every student snapped to an attentive position: feet together, _shinai_ in the right hand, both hands down at their sides. "Mr. Yamaguchi, Mr. Sato, Mr. Watanabe, Mr. Endo, and Mr. Kuroki: you will place your equipment on the racks and line up here behind me."

"Yes, Sir!" the five named men jumped out of line to do his bidding, stripping off armor and placing it and their weapons on the racks in the storage room on one side of the gym, and then dashing in _gi_ and _hakama_ to stand behind him, highest rank first.

"What about that one?" Swan pointed toward an Asian man in the middle of one line. The man kept his eyes forward but Sasuke could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously.

"That is Mr. Wang, and he is of a Chinese family. Mr. Jordan said you were interested only in Japanese students." Sasuke bowed politely, and considered doing it a couple more times just because it seemed to irritate the man.

"Get on with it," the agent growled, and Sasuke didn't miss the opportunity to bow again. Then he turned back to the class.

"Mr. Swindon."

"Yes, Sir!"

"You will take over the instruction of this class while I am away. If this should last longer than any of us would like, you will have full discretion on testing and determining when new techniques will be introduced to the students."

"Yes, Sir!" The words were as short and crisp as usual, but something in the tone told Sasuke that the man was not happy at this turn of events. He stepped out of line to join his _sensei_ at the front of the room, towering over Sasuke.

"I will also give my car keys to Mr. Jordan and I ask that you and one other student return the vehicle to my wife and let her know I will be in touch with her as soon as I can be. Hopefully that will be in the form of showing up at the door." Gods, he hoped it didn't come to that, but he had a sneaking suspicion, looking at the officer's eyes, that this "questioning" might take a while.

"Sir…" Todd started to protest, but Sasuke held up his hand to stop the flow of words he could almost see coming.

"Please take care of our class." Sasuke held out his hand, and both men bowed as they shook. Todd's tight grip told him everything he hadn't let the other man say. As he turned to leave, Todd's voice thundered out.

"Class, attention!" The entire class snapped into position with glorious precision. "Face Himura-sensei. _Ojigi_!" As one, they bowed to Sasuke.

Sasuke bowed back to them, then walked out the door without looking back, his five Japanese students following, all sandwiched between the two MPs.

----------------------

A couple of days later as Tom passed the Himura's house on his way to finish mulching at the Martin's, Masumi ran out the front door waving her arms to flag him down. He stopped and backed up, and she dashed around to his door. He was surprised to see her in tears.

"Mr. Niitsu – Tom – I'm so sorry to bother you, but do you know anything about plumbing? I had water all over the kitchen floor yesterday and I can't find a plumber who will come."

"I can take a look. Let me get the truck out of the street." He backed up into her driveway and then followed her into the house.

"I haven't been able to use the sink since after breakfast yesterday. I did the dishes and when I let out the water, it poured all over the floor. It looks like the pipes have come apart, but I can't get them back together. I tried calling the man who helped once at the apartment, but no one answered his phone, and the other that I found in the phone book who is Japanese was so booked he can't get here for a week. None of the white plumbers would come. One of them even said he could tell I was Japanese by my voice and he wasn't doing anything to help a 'damned Jap'."

"Some people are like that. Did you call the landlord?" Tom hunkered down in front of the sink and opened the cabinet door.

"Mr. Regal is on a business trip. Mrs. Regal said she'd call around, but I haven't heard anything from her."

There was a sudden loud wail from Tatsuya in the living room followed by Cho calling: "Mama! Tatsu-chan won't stop jumping on the couch and I can't read!"

"I'm sorry…" Masumi said as she turned toward the noise. Tom waved her off as he reached under the sink to check out the pipes. When she came back, Tom's head and one shoulder were also under the sink.

"Cho's out of school with a cold and I'm trying to keep her studying, but Tatsu-chan isn't a help. And with Sasuke not here, they're both scared and acting out." She sounded like a woman who was over-stressed and who needed to vent her own fear and frustration.

Tom's head popped out from under the sink. "Do you have a pipe wrench? I don't have mine in the truck since I wasn't planning on doing any water system work today."

"I don't know. Sasuke's tools are in the basement." She led the way down to the workbench and the rack of tools hung neatly on the wall.

"So where's Sasuke?" Tom asked. It seemed odd his friend wouldn't be able to fix something like this, or wouldn't have been making the calls to get it fixed.

"You didn't hear? The FBI picked up him and five of his students at the Y Tuesday night. I wouldn't have known except Mr. Swindon, one of his first students, and one of the others – a Mr. Bryant – brought the car home. And then, when they were here telling me about it, a car with some agents stopped and had a warrant to search the house. They ordered Mr. Swindon and Mr. Bryant out and then they went through everything except the boxes we haven't unpacked downstairs. They said they might come back to look through those. They didn't take anything, but they certainly stirred everything up. The children were frightened. So was I. It seems that since Sasuke teaches kendo and other martial arts, and the others practice them, they are all considered dangerous to the government. I don't even know where they took him." She tried to hide the catch in her voice, but Tom heard it anyway. "I don't know if what you need is here…"

"Right here," Tom said, plucking the heavy wrench from its hook. "I'm sorry about that, Mrs. Himura. I'll see what I can find out. They might tell me more than they'll tell you, since I'm a citizen." They started back up the iron grate steps to the kitchen. "I've heard from some others that they're looking for short-wave radios that could transmit information to Japanese planes or subs, or anything that might indicate someone is part of group affiliated with the Japanese government that might be working to bring down the U.S.. They've already confiscated all the Japanese-run fishing boats everywhere on the coast."

"Mr. Swindon said Mr. Jordan – the director at the Y – was very upset. They are going to write letters to see if they can get Sasuke and the students released."

"Well, anything's a help," Tom said as he sat down and fiddled with the wrench to get it to fit over a large nut on the drain pipe. "I don't know how much you've heard about what's going on out there, but there's some serious paranoia going on. Add to that the usual racism…" After pulling hard on the wrench and finally getting the nut loose, he continued, "Between the media and the government, they make it sound like all the Japanese on the west coast are going to rise up and murder every right-thinking white person in their beds, which is utter nonsense, of course. And all those lies about the Japanese in Hawaii sabotaging things and helping guide in the Japanese planes for their bombing runs… If they'd make some effort to calm people down and talk reasonably, this could all blow over, but they're fanning the flames instead. Shouting about patriotism and waving flags, and forgetting it's our flag, too."

"I've heard some. My friend, Yuki, runs a flower shop in Japantown and pretty much keeps track of everything going on in the community. She called yesterday to update me and see how it was up here. She said all their assets have been frozen – they can't get any money from the bank. It's a good thing Kisho, her husband, doesn't really trust banks and keeps some money at home, but it won't last them long. I called the bank after I got off the phone with her, and we're in the same situation. Everything is frozen. But Sasuke doesn't really trust banks, either, so I am okay for now."

"Well if you need anything, you let me know. He asked me to look after you if something like this happened, and I will. You don't drive, do you?"

Masumi shook her head. "I guess I could if I have to, but I don't have a license. I haven't driven hardly at all since we came to America. We were only able to afford a car just a couple years ago. Sasuke always took the busses or trolleys and the ferry before."

"If you need groceries or have errands to run or appointments, let me know. My schedule is pretty flexible, so I can help any time."

"I will remember."

Both were silent for a few moments while Tom stuck his head under the sink again to reconnect the pipes and screw down the nut again. Then he ran some water from the tap, keeping an eye on the pipes.

"There, that's got it. I don't know how it could fall apart with the nut on there so tight, but that's all it was. Probably got bumped every time something was put in or taken out of the cabinet and just worked itself loose."

Masumi reached for her purse, sitting on the counter near the door. "Thank you so much, Mr. Niitsu. I don't know what I would have done. What do I owe you?"

"Absolutely nothing," Tom said firmly. "If you need anything else, give me a call. If I'm not home, hang a rag off the mailbox. I'm up and down this road a lot since I have clients up the hill and this is the best way to them. If I see a rag, I'll stop."

------------------------

Nine days after the car came home without Sasuke, Masumi got a postcard from him. She showed it to Tom when he stopped by the house later in the day.

"At least I know where he is and that he's okay," she said.

"Immigrant Detention Quarters," Tom read off the card. "I know where it is – downtown San Francisco. Dreary-looking place. If you get the things together that he's asking for, we can take them down there."

"It is all ready now, but it is too late to take it today. I called and they said we could bring it down tomorrow or Saturday, or next week."

"Tomorrow, then. He shouldn't have to wait any longer."

They went downtown the next day in Tom's truck. Masumi held Tatsuya on her lap while Cho, who got to skip school, sat between her and Tom. They waited in a dim little room until finally the door opened and Sasuke was led in by a single guard. His face looked a little thinner – a look that was accentuated by the beginnings of a beard, and he looked tired. His _hakama _and _gi_ looked limp and dirty, but his grin was still roguish and his arms still strong as he hugged his family, his grip still firm as he shook Tom's hand.

"Thank you so much for bringing this," he said as Tom offered him the duffle. "I can stand wearing the same clothes day after day, but this beard is starting to itch!"

"We brought what you asked and whatever else we thought you might need. We weren't sure how much longer they'd keep you here," Tom said.

"I'm not sure, either. They've let some of the guys go, but they've all been citizens. Three were my students; the other two, like me, aren't citizens, so we're all still here. There are a lot of guys back here. Now I know how a sardine feels when packed into a can. The FBI is interviewing everyone and taking pictures of us all, but no one has told us much of anything except that there will be hearings for each of us."

"For what?" Masumi asked.

"Were I to hazard a guess, and it's all I can do, really, I'd say they're trying to determine whether we're loyal to America or Japan. The rumors are flying. Some of the men have been photographed once – full face – and others twice – full face and profile. The rumor is the ones photographed twice might be deported."

"Which category are you?" Masumi asked fearfully. Having Sasuke sent back to Japan while she and the children stayed in the States was unthinkable.

"Just once. After that, the camera jammed, so I'm not sure what that means." Sasuke grinned and shrugged.

"It means you're ugly, brother," Tom quipped. The joke was thin, but Sasuke shot him a gratified look. Anything to keep from worrying Masumi too much, especially given the next rumor he had to mention.

"Yeah. Well, the other thing you need to know is, I've heard they're planning to ship us off to a base in Montana until the review board can decide what to do with us."

"Montana?" Masumi gasped. "It's all ice and snow there."

"That's why I asked for warm clothes," he said gently. "Not that it's particularly warm here."

"So what can we do?" Tom asked.

"See if you can get some of our white friends to write letters in support of me and get them to the review board. It might help sway some opinions. I sent a post card to Mr. Jordan asking the same, so you may hear from him."

Sasuke's guard opened the door. "Mr. Himura, your visitation time is up. I'm sorry."

"No, Daddy! You can't go! You have to come home with us!" Cho, who had been silent up to this point, wrapped her arms around one of his legs, sobbing. She transferred her stranglehold to Sasuke's neck as he knelt down beside her, glancing at the guard for permission.

"Cho. Stop crying, please, and listen to me." His voice was quiet and firm. "Remember how your behavior reflects on us all. I need you to brave right now and help your Mama. She's going to have to do a lot of things for me, so you will have to help her more around the house and with Tatsu-chan."

"But I want you home," she sniffled.

"I know. I want to be home. But I can't right now. The President asks me to do this, so I must. Be my brave girl and help Mama, okay? Uncle Tom will take care of you, too. You obey him like you would me." He brushed her bangs out of her eyes and patted her cheek, and then hugged her before hugging Masumi and Tatsuya, and shaking Tom's hand. And then he was being led away by the stoic guard.

"Write to me," he said, and was gone.

They got the address for the review board before they left and returned home in silence, trying to ignore the silent tears that rolled down Cho's face.

-----------------

_Vocabulary_

_Dan – rank that approximates black-belt level learning in other martial arts. Kendo does not use a color-belt system._

_Gi – traditional upper-body garment lapped left over right and tied at the side._

_Hakama – traditional lower body garment referred to with the number of panels used to make it. Seven panel, which is the style Kenshin wears in the manga, is fuller than one panel, which is what Sano wears. The seven panel can be a skirt or a split, trouser-like style. The seven panel is the style typically used in kendo._

_Ojigi – to bow (and show respect)_

_Sensei – teacher, learned one_

_Shinai – a sword made of 4 lengths of split bamboo, tied together and capped, and with a wrapped handle. Generally less damaging than the solid bokken, it is used for practice in striking and defending with a partner. The bokken, which is solid wood, is generally used for kata practice._


	7. Chapter 7

_Still don't own Rurouni Kenshin or Highlander._

The Visitor Who Came To Stay – January, 1942

The holidays were over, and everyone was glad they were. While not Christian, the family celebrated Christmas anyway, usually with a tree, presents, and friends over to visit and eat. The children had hung stockings and usually found a present or two on Christmas morning, proof that Santa Claus really did exist, although Cho was starting to doubt that. This year was different. The decorating that Masumi had started just after Thanksgiving had come to a halt with the attack on Pearl Harbor and the outbreak of war. After that, no one felt much like decorating, especially after Sasuke was taken away. As the news of war got worse and postcards from Sasuke were limited, any thought of a joyous holiday disappeared. Sasuke, who usually equaled if not surpassed his children in holiday energy, wasn't there to be the family cheerleader, and Masumi couldn't muster any false joy. She, Tom, and the children put together a box full of sweets, socks, hats, and mittens for him and the other men incarcerated with him. Some of them didn't have families on the outside to help, and enjoyed the treats, warm clothes, and the letters Cho penned to her father, which he read aloud. The family and Tom had dinner together, followed by a few quiet games, and then Tom had taken his leave and the children and Masumi went to bed.

New Years Eve hadn't been any better. They didn't even get together for that. Masumi cleaned her house and weeded out some of the toys and books the children didn't pay attention to anymore, putting them into a box for donation to the needy. The children played games without too much squabbling, and helped Masumi – or got in her way, depending on how 'helpful' they were. Tom puttered around his house with some minor maintenance chores. All went to bed long before midnight.

A week later, Tom was sitting in his favorite comfortable chair in the small living room of his bungalow-style house. It was a cozy room with a mix of western furniture and Japanese fabrics and art. The chairs and sofa were over-stuffed and upholstered in practical blue corduroy, with end tables and a coffee table of polished oak that almost seemed to blend in with the wood of the floor. In fact, they might have if the floor hadn't been covered by an oriental rug in shades of blue, gold, and green. The curtains at the window were heavy blue and gold silk over beige Venetian blinds, now with their slats closed for privacy. A framed _sumi-e_ painting of a tree leaning over a waterfall hung over the fireplace, and a cluster of _netsuke_ figures huddled around the unlit buttery beeswax candles at either end of the mantle. Several pen and ink drawing of scenes around Yosemite were grouped on another wall, the composition of them showing as the work of a Japanese artist, though the subject was uniquely American. A _daishō_ rested on a stand near the chair to the left of the fireplace. Both the _katana_ and its little brother _wakizashi_ had plain, unwrapped wooden grips polished to a golden glow and no _tsuba_ to interrupt the flow of wood down the length of the _saya_, although the _saya _of the _wakizashi_ had a delicate pattern of entwined vines and leaves picked out in gold running the length of it. A few magazines were stacked neatly on the coffee table, with a Sierra Club newsletter resting topmost. Tom had just added another log to the fire in the fireplace, and with the shades drawn, a book in his hands, and a cup of tea gently steaming on the table near his elbow, most – if not everything – was right in his world.

Then there was a knock on the door. Actually, it was more like a pounding, but Tom was already on his feet and had left the book on the seat of the chair. In a fluid, easy movement, he snagged the _katana_ off the decorative stand and held it casually by the _saya_ with his left hand behind him as he flipped on the outside light and answered the door. The man who stood there was over medium height, but still wouldn't be considered overly tall. He would, perhaps, not be considered handsome by the standards of the day, but his face was interesting and unapologetically English. His curly light brown hair was kissed to gold by the sun, and his green eyes were open and friendly, crow's feet at the corners attesting to a good humor often indulged in. His suit was of good cut and material, but somewhat rumpled, as if he'd been sleeping in it, and a long duffle bag was slung over one shoulder. As the door opened, he flung his arms wide, an affable grin on his face, and proclaimed in a broad British accent:

"Kenshin! My good friend! It's been so long since I've seen you!" His eyes dropped to the _katana_, barely concealed at Tom's side and he sobered quickly. "That's not really for me is it? We're such _good_ friends." The man's smile appeared a bit more forced, as if sheer determination was keeping it in place.

"Fitzcairn, every time you start stressing what good friends we are, I start looking over my shoulder and hanging onto my wallet," Kenshin – for that really was the name Tom usually went by, though not the one he was born with – said dryly, and stepped quickly back from what could have become a man-hug. Unfortunately, that left the door open, and the other man unabashedly walked in. "What brings you to Berkeley?"

"Oh, you know, traveling the world, seeing the sites, visiting my _good_ friends…"

"A ticked-off head-hunting Immortal, the mob, an angry husband…" Kenshin enumerated other possibilities.

"Hah, well, yes, the last. Out in Napa country and was she as sweet as the wine. Unfortunately, he came back from a growers' conference earlier than expected, and I decided discretion was the better part of valor."

"You couldn't have used the discretion first?" Kenshin asked as Fitz dumped his bag next to the coffee table and picked up the book Kenshin had left behind.

"'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz'?" he asked, holding it out and shaking it slightly, smirking. Kenshin took it from him.

"I thought I'd see how it differed from the movie." He set it on the coffee table as Fitz plopped into his chair and picked up the tea cup, taking a sniff.

"Whew, old son, you taken to brewing grass? I mean, you've never been the richest of us, but I never thought you'd be that poor." He dragged over his duffle and started rooting around in it. "You need a real man's tea. There, that'll do it," he exclaimed as he pulled out a green tin. "Irish breakfast tea. It's a good strong black, it is. Brew a pot of this and it'll put hair on your chest. In fact, you brew a pot of this and it'll come to you when you whistle for it, it's that strong."

"Mine is _gyokuro_ from Uji, near Kyoto, and probably the best green tea you can find," Kenshin said mildly. "And it smells like flowers, not grass. I'm really not sure I want my tea walking out to me, and I've never been overly concerned about the state of the hair on my chest."

Fitz tossed the tin at him and leaned back, crossing his legs. "Well at least you could brew me a cuppa. I am a guest, after all."

Kenshin looked pointedly at the other man's shoes, still firmly tied to his feet. "Most of my guests at least know to take their shoes off. And they don't usually barge in, either."

"Whoops! Forgot about you Japanese and the shoe thing. And I would have called, but time was of the essence, don'cha know. Of course, I wasn't sure if you were actually here. I got this address a couple years ago and MacLeod's been wrong before."

Kenshin shook his head and disappeared into the kitchen to heat the kettle. Fitz was Fitz and it was unlikely he'd changed much over his centuries. The whole world was a lark to him and he didn't put too much effort into hard work, but overall, he was harmless and likeable if you weren't going after his head. Then he could be very serious indeed. In fact, casual sparring sessions with him had helped Kenshin grow more knowledgeable about Western-style fencing and how best to counter it with any one of a number of Japanese and Chinese styles he knew. He'd also taught Fitz a few moves from those styles, but never anything of his principal style. That was a secret he'd never teach. _Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu_ was far too powerful a sword technique to be given to other Immortals, and it was his ace-in-the-hole if things went bad in a fight. So far, he'd never needed to use it. His skill in other sword styles was more than adequate for the few encounters he'd had with head hunters.

When Kenshin came out of the kitchen several minutes later bearing a tea tray loaded with a teapot, cups, cream, sugar, and a plate of cookies, Fitz was sprawled in the chair – shoes off – and idly flipping through the Sierra Club newsletter. He grinned as he sat up and put the paper aside, reaching for a cookie as Tom set the tray on the coffee table and poured tea into the cups. Then he stopped, his hand hovering over the plate.

"These are normal, aren't they?"

"What? I baked them yesterday. They're not stale or anything."

"I mean, they don't have anything weird in them, like seaweed or something, do they?" Fitz asked.

Kenshin laughed. "They're just gingersnaps, Fitz. I'm saving the arsenic-coated tea cakes for later if you tick me off." His humor seemed to make Fitz more suspicious rather than less.

"I'm just checking. Last time it was pinto bean fudge or some such weird thing."

"They were red bean buns and they were really good. Last time I share with you."

Fitz snorted, obviously not agreeing to the goodness of red bean buns, and snagged a couple cookies. "So, Kenny, what's going on in San Fran these days? I heard rumors."

"All kinds of badness, and bound to get worse. And I'm going by Tom Niitsu right now. If you call me Kenshin Himura, we're going to have way too many questions to answer. No one knows me by that name here." Kenshin took a sip of the black tea he'd poured for himself – since his green had gone cold – and wrinkled his nose, adding more sugar and some cream and stirring it into a pale concoction that drew a disapproving stare from Fitz. "As to the current times, hysteria is running rampant. There are rumors of relocating all the Japanese off the west coast so we can't help guide in any planes or sabotage anything. Some of my _Issei_ friends have already been picked up and hauled off to some _kami_-forsaken place in Montana so they can't aid Japan. Not that any of them have any inclination to do so, of course. We just sent a big box full of warm clothes and stuff to one of them. The FBI pulled him out of his kendo class and shipped him off to Montana in a _gi_ and _hakama_. He was lucky they let him put on his shoes. Still he was luckier than the guy they pulled off the golf course. He was in a golf shirt and shorts."

"In Montana in December? What were they thinking? And what is _Issei_? My Japanese is rusty."

"Your Japanese is non-existent, Fitz," Kenshin snorted. "First generation. Just off the boat, so to speak, although some of them have been here for decades. My papers say I'm _sansei_, which is third generation. I thought at the time it would help explain the odd coloring and give me a bit more claim to citizenship, but it doesn't appear to help much right now. With the hysteria at the level it is, all you need is a Japanese face to be considered an enemy, and it doesn't matter if you voluntarily left Japan for a better life – like everyone else in America except the Indians - or if you've never been to Japan."

"Well, you're not exactly typical looking for a Japanese, and why are you dying your hair? I assume that is dye."

"I'm trying to blend. Actually it does work pretty well as long as I don't go too dark. Then I start looking like the walking dead, with this pale skin. But I am Japanese enough to be noticeably "not white", and that's enough. You know, even if you're only one sixty-fourth "not white", you're considered "colored" in America, and therefore your rights are less. I keep hoping they'll correct that and truly carry out that equality and justice-for-all thing, but it hasn't happened yet. Now there's this. With the attack on Pearl Harbor, it's just an excuse to carry the usual discrimination another step or two farther. It's not just the _Issei_ they want to collect and ship out; it's everyone, right down to the last one-sixty-fourth."

"Looks like it's time to move on, and you'd better do it quick before they lock you down," Fitz said.

"Yeah, but that's the tough part. I can't go. Call me whatever you like, but I can't turn my back on people who need me. And I have family here, Fitz. Real family. The kendo instructor in Montana is one of my grandsons, and his wife and two kids are up on the hill without too many Japanese families around for support. She's got some good white neighbors who are trying to help, but she's still feeling pretty isolated. I can't just abandon them when they might be relocated somewhere and he's not with them. And she's pregnant again, so how much can she do on her own in that condition? The younger kid is still a toddler and he can be a handful."

Fitz whistled. "That is a mess. You know, you're the only one of us I ever met who had kids before the first death. It's got to be rough wanting to protect them all the time."

Kenshin shrugged. "Mostly I have to let them go their own way, which is harder in some ways. I can't interfere or help out or I tip them off that I'm still alive, and I can't do that. Not only do I run all the questions about how I managed to stay so well-preserved, but there's also the risk that they start looking me as if I'm some kind of all-knowing, all-powerful being that will guide them through a flawless life. Like I know what that is. I stumbled across Sasuke and his family by accident, but now that I know they're here, I can't leave them in this mess. He's of the generation that never knew me, so I'm safe enough unless someone…" he dragged the last word out as he stared hard at Fitz, "…lets my real name slip."

"I won't, I promise. I can get used to Tom…which isn't very Japanese, you know."

"Of course not. I was going for American-sounding – third generation, you know. You could call me Tomio, like Mrs. Takamatsu did," Kenshin grinned. "It cracked me up, but I had to pretend I didn't know what it meant."

"Which is?"

"'Splendid man'. Now doesn't that just describe me?" Kenshin's lavender eyes sparkled with laughter.

Fitz almost spit out his mouthful of tea, trying not to laugh until he could swallow. "What, was she blind?"

"Of course not. Almost eighty, but not blind. I always thought her the most discriminating of women. Actually, it would have been a little embarrassing if there had been other Japanese families up here. I am glad the Takamatsu's have already moved to Texas and won't be in this mess. At least, not for now. If this relocation idea really takes hold, who knows how far it'll spread? They're saying it would be for 'military necessity' and to 'protect' us from anyone wanting to do us harm, but it's really a crock of bullshit. If they want to protect us, all they have to do is step up law enforcement and cut the hysterical posturing in the media. I don't think this little house is in a strategic military location, or Japantown, either. If that were a good location for anything, there wouldn't be Japanese there."

"Well, if you need help, I'll do what I can. I'd thought to hang out in California where things were peaceful, as opposed to anywhere near Europe, but the events at Pearl Harbor have pointed out rather emphatically that nowhere is peaceful anymore. Still, California has good weather, so it still seems to be a good place to stay a while. I figured to look around and see if there was work to be had. There must be something in the defense industry if nowhere else"

"There are quite a few used car dealers in Berkeley – you'd be great at it, Fitz," Kenshin grinned. "Where are you staying?"

"Well, I thought I'd stay with you if you didn't mind. Just until I got settled, you know. Still haven't recovered from all my losses in that damned stock market fiasco. Took me more than one decade to amass enough to invest; it'll take me more than one to crawl my way back to that point again." Fitz did look genuinely apologetic.

"That's because you keep spending it on wine and women, not to mention betting on horses, but that's okay. I've got a spare room upstairs, and I've got a feeling I may be needing the help of a good _hakujin_ friend very soon," Kenshin said darkly, all trace of his previous good humor gone. "You know, I'm just so…angry…at the Japanese government right now. This isn't what we were fighting to create eighty years ago. I should have guessed after Okubo-san was assassinated that the grand plan for a nation state would never be realized."

"There was a plan?" Fitz asked skeptically.

"Believe it or not, yes, there was a plan. A government where people could decide their paths for themselves instead of having all the power in a handful of people. The leaders that were left didn't have the vision it took to keep moving forward, or the charisma to keep everyone together. Saito was right – it ended up being a government filled with powerless third-rate idiots and one or two smart guys who grabbed it all. The direction got murky and the next thing you know, there's this. This is worse than anything the _bakufu_ did. It's not like there weren't warning signs - my first death was in Korea fighting China for possession of the peninsula, after all, but the revolution wasn't supposed to be about conquest. It was supposed to be about getting Japan's act together and dealing on an even footing with foreign powers."

"That's why no war is a good war, no matter how righteous you think your cause is. Some damned politician is going to come along and screw things up anyway. Happens time and again. You live eight hundred years like me, you see it countless times. That's why I don't fight in wars. Never was keen on it, and I've seen enough to be even less keen on it now. Best to wait until the dust has settled and then see what can be done."

"To make a profit?" Kenshin asked cynically. He was under no illusions about Fitz's altruism.

"If it happens, I'm not against it," the older man nodded. "But there are benefits that have nothing to do with money. I can do that, too." He pulled his pipe from his pocket, along with a pouch of tobacco.

"Like very appreciative European women?"

Fitz just smiled and started packing the bowl of the pipe.

"If you don't mind, take that outside," Kenshin suggested. "I had enough of tobacco smoke when I worked with Saito. I could smell that man coming, never mind sensing him. Hiko taught me to use all my senses, as well as what to avoid to be sensed myself. Smoke clings, and tobacco smoke doesn't smell like wood smoke."

Fitz snorted. "If someone's coming for your head, they don't need to smell you. They'll know where you are."

"Right now, I'm not worried about head hunters. I'm more worried about my fellow Americans."

_-----------------------------------_

_Vocabulary_

_Bakufu – literally "tent government" – the Japanese government under the Tokugawa shogunate_

_Daisho – set of katana and wakizashi that proclaim the status of a warrior as samurai_

_Gyokuro – premiere green tea_

_Hakujin - Caucasian_

_Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu – Kenshin's primary sword style, an ancient style of the Sengoku era that pits one against many_

_Issei – first generation Japanese American_

_Kami – spirits _

_Katana – long sword _

_Netsuke – carved bead that was used to hold purse strings closed, often made to look like animals or fanciful spirits. _

_Sansei – third generation Japanese American_

_Saya – sheath_

_Sumi-e – __Black Ink Painting_._ Black ink on white paper, simple, elegant and serene. Simplicity is the most outstanding characteristic of Sumi-e. An economy of brush strokes are used to communicate the essence of the subject. (Description gratefully borrowed from silver dragon studio - they described it much better than I could) _

_Tsuba – the (usually) round guard that protects the hand between blade and handle on a sword_

_Wakizashi – short sword. The saya was usually more decorative because this sword generally could be worn to meetings when the katana was given up for security purposes._


	8. Chapter 8

_I don't own Rurouni Kenshin, Highlander, or Carhartt…but I wish I did._

January Blues – January 1942

Cho had been relieved to have a couple weeks off of school, and was reluctant to return. While no one said much about the war to her, and her teacher tried to keep things in the classroom normal, she still felt as if everyone was staring at her. In the restroom, she stared into her image in the mirror while washing her hands, and surreptitiously looked at the girls on either side, wondering why she'd never noticed how different she was from them. Only two girls in her class socialized with her by choice – Lee Anderson, who lived across the road, and Maria Santiago, who didn't speak much English and was also a social outcast. During lunch, they were joined by Amy Brooks, who was a year older and lived down the block. Supervision during lunch was more lax than in the classroom and rudeness from the other kids was more likely to appear, but the girls provided a united front. Lee and Amy were vocal enough to keep the tormenters away in most cases, and Maria's flood of Spanish sounded violent even though she told the other girls that she was only quoting poetry in a mean voice.

"Or the Padre makes me say a lot of prayers," she confessed haltingly, while the others giggled.

Cho proved to be a master of spitballs, once Amy showed her how to make them and blow them through her milk straw. With Lee picking the targets, Cho and Amy competed for accuracy and distance. It was no coincidence that most of the targets were kids who picked on them.

"Only you're supposed to make sure all the milk is out first," Amy advised after Cho landed a juicy one on the back of Billy Hillman's head, inadvertently spraying Maria with milk as she did so. The four girls struggled to keep straight faces as Billy looked around suspiciously and Maria blotted milk from her face and blouse. Only the end of the period halted the competition, with Lee proclaiming Cho the winner and Amy confessing her awe over Cho's targeting ability.

It was one of the few bright spots. Although she loved to learn, school was getting to be more and more of an endurance test every day. She never really knew what form the hazing would take that day; she only knew that it would come with the same kind of certainty that she knew the sun would rise. She felt bad that Lee's and Amy's other friendships were breaking down because of their association with her, but Amy brushed it off.

"Mom says if they're going to dislike me because I like you, then they're not much in the way of friends and I'm better off without them. I think she's right. Julie Blessing said I just like hanging out with babies, because you guys are a grade below, but really, my birthday is so late in September, I barely made the cut-off for my year. A couple days later and I would have been in your grade anyway. And I think I'd rather be. Julie and her crowd are a bunch of snobs, but everyone follows what they do. I'd rather hang out with you guys and have fun."

'But there's no fun this afternoon,' Cho thought, sitting glumly on the garden wall and trying to tuck her chin into the dark fur collar of her red wool coat. 'Amy's at ballet and Lee has a dentist appointment. I hope she doesn't have another cavity. She says it hurts when they fill them. If Daddy were here, we could do kendo or something when he got home, and that would be fun, but he's not here. I wonder if it's gloomy like this in Montana.'

The day was overcast, with only a little watery sunlight trying to filter through the clouds. It had rained that morning, a chilly, soaking kind of rain that had made her feel cold all day, even though the school had been warm enough. Despite the chill, though, she didn't want to be inside. Tatsuya had a cold and was cranky, and somehow the house seemed stifling. So she sat on the wall and watched as Tom carefully pruned the roses and the small trees, training their growth so that they wouldn't overwhelm the garden the next year, or spend all their energy making leaves instead of flowers. He'd explained it when she'd come out and asked what he was doing, but she found it hard to picture what the plants would look like next year. She only knew that as he worked, they got more and more skeletal looking and the pile of pruned branches and canes got bigger and bigger. Finally, he stopped, tucking the pruners into the back pocket of his jeans and picking up most of the pile to take it to his truck. He'd dispose of all the brush on the way home. When he'd cleaned everything up, he came back to where she was still sitting on the wall and sat down next to her, waving something round and coppery in front of her eyes.

"A penny for your thoughts," he said.

Cho looked at him blankly. "What?"

"I give you a penny and you tell me what you're thinking. It must be important. You look like you're thinking hard." He tucked the penny into the palm of her mitten.

"Not really. I just miss Daddy. It didn't feel like Christmas or New Year's without him." She awkwardly turned the penny over and over, not really seeing Lincoln's head or the sheaves of wheat that marked it front and back.

"Oh. I'm sorry." Tom sounded a little wounded.

"Oh, not 'cause of you, Uncle Tom. Just 'cause he's never been away before. Not for anything. I miss doing stuff with him."

"You and your dad are pretty close, huh?"

"Mmm-hmmm." The heels of her black-soled shoes idly kicked the wall.

"So if he was here, what would you be doing?"

"Playing games, maybe. He was teaching me how to play checkers and _go_. Sometimes we do card games like "Go Fish" or "Old Maid". Mama and I have been trying to teach Tatsu-chan "Go Fish" but he doesn't really know the colors yet so it's not much fun. And he bends the tails on the cards, which really look like fish. Maybe we'd practice kendo. I haven't practiced in forever."

"Hmm, that's not good. You have to practice so you don't forget, or you'll have to start all over when he gets back."

"I know. I want to, but since Tatsu-chan is sick, he can't come outside and Mama can't watch. She won't let me do it alone 'cause she doesn't want me to hurt myself." Cho rolled her eyes. "I only hurt myself on new stuff, and then only sometimes. But I can't do new stuff without Daddy here to teach it. And I can't go to the Y and learn it from Mr. Swindon because Mama doesn't drive."

"Can you do it if I watch? I guess I can keep you from hurting yourself almost as good as your mom can."

Cho brightened visibly. "Would you? Oh, but, you gotta work." Her light seemed to go out.

"I've been working since early this morning and I'm done for the day. I was done when I finished cleaning up the yard. Now I can do whatever I want." He smiled at her and lifted his eyebrows. "So, want to go ask Mom if you can practice? You can explain to me what you're doing so I can tell if you know it."

All bright energy again, Cho scrambled to her feet and ran towards the house. "I'll be right back!" she called, and Kenshin settled on the wall to wait for her, hands stuffed into the pockets of his brown canvas Carhartt jacket. When she came back, dressed in _gi_ and _hakama_ and holding a _shinai_, he was struck again by how much she looked like a miniature version of Kaoru. The only thing missing was the blue hair ribbon; Cho had a simple rubber band around her ponytail.

"Okay, I'm ready!" she sang out.

"All right. First you have to warm up and stretch out, so you don't hurt anything," he said. "I want you to go through the exercises just like you did with your dad, and tell me what you're stretching."

After she'd stretched everything, counting each repetition out loud, she stood at what she explained was an attention stance and waited for him to tell her what to do.

"We're going to start with very basic things, okay? Because I need to know what you're supposed to be doing and how it looks. I remember your dad having you do the same move over and over as you went from the house to the garden wall, so I'm going to have you do that, too. We'll start at the house." Kenshin waved her towards the back of the house and stood in front of her. Cho snapped into her attention position as soon as she got to where he'd pointed.

"All right, let's start with the one where your sword is in front of you."

"You're supposed to say '_Yoi_!' That means 'Attention!'", Cho said.

"But you're at attention."

"You're supposed to say it anyway."

"Umm, okay. _Yoi_!" Cho's position got straighter, if that were possible, the _shinai_ held down at her side.

"Now what?" he asked.

"_Ojigi_. That means to bow and show respect."

"_Ojigi_." Cho bowed towards him and Kenshin, looking somewhat awkward, bowed back.

"Now, _kamae_. That's a ready stance."

"_Kamae_!" Cho moved her right foot forward and then drew the _shinai_ with her right hand as her left foot moved into a position with her toes near her right instep. Then she bent her knees and squatted with the _shinai_ in front of her before she stood again and stepped forward into a guard position with her right foot.

"Now what?"

"Now, _chudan no kamae_. That's the center guard position."

"_Chudan no kamae_." Kenshin purposely stumbled a bit with the words, but they mostly sounded like what she'd said. Cho moved into the correct position.

"Is that the right one?" he asked. "Feet right? Hands right? Sword right?"

"Yes, Sir!" Cho said after each prompt, but he noticed she was darting quick looks at her feet, hands, and sword position and making minor adjustments.

"Do I just start counting?" he asked, sucking in his cheeks and trying not to laugh. It was much more difficult than he'd thought to pretend he knew nothing around her, especially with her face looking so serious. Kenji and Hikari had looked a lot like that, long ago, when Kaoru had started their training.

"You say '_hajime_', which is 'start', and then you count."

"All right, then. _Hajime_! One!"

Cho moved, but her face crinkled into a frown. "Uncle Tom, you're supposed to count in Japanese!"

Kenshin couldn't help it; he did start laughing. "And what if I can't count in Japanese? We're in America and I reserve the right to count in American. I mean English. Although come to think of it, Mr. Fitz would say those are two different things. We're counting in English." And he did, but he could hear her chanting the numbers in Japanese under her breath after him as she did each move. He counted until she reached the garden wall and then made her turn around.

"Okay. I noticed that the more of these you do, the more the tip of your sword starts to drop. What's the correct position?"

"Here," Cho said, lifting it a little more.

"Then why was it dropping? Is it heavy?"

"No."

"Are you tired?"

"No."

"Are you lazy?"

"Umm…"

"Losing focus?"

"I think so."

"Bad thing to do. You need to focus on each step and make it the best you can do, always. That way when you need to do it right, it'll be there. Let's do this again, and I want you to focus on each one. It's okay if they're slower as long as they're right. You can work on speed later."

He sent her marching back up the yard, correcting the position every time she wavered. They went through every basic movement she knew – blocks and strikes – in the same way, up and down the yard as many times as he thought was necessary. Then he made her go through her forms, having her call out the name and stance of each move as she did it, and having her imagine her partner on those that needed one. He would not step in and provide a striking dummy for her. It was too dangerous in terms of both his health and his cover story.

Every now and then, he got a glimpse of Masumi peeking through the kitchen window, checking on them. After about an hour and a half, she stepped outside, waiting until they noticed her.

"Dinner is ready. For you, too, Tom. You're eating with us tonight."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," he said, glancing at his watch. He hadn't realized how late it was getting.

"Yes, please, I insist. It is the least I can do."

The meal was quiet, since Masumi had already given Tatsuya some soup and put him to bed.

Kenshin asked Cho about school and she tried to make it sound better than it was, focusing on what she was learning rather than the way the other kids treated her. She knew that would upset her mother. When he asked what she was grateful for that day, something he did often when he ate with them, she answered promptly.

"You helping with my kendo and my friends Lee, Amy, and Maria, who laugh with me." She didn't say about what.

"Masumi?"

"I got a letter from Sasuke today," she said, smiling. "I'm grateful for that."

"Mama, you didn't say!" Cho exclaimed.

"That's because I thought we could share it after dinner. You didn't look like you were in the mood earlier, and then you were working so hard. I thought it would be a nice reward." She looked at Tom. "He said to tell you 'hello' and 'thank you' for all you've done."

"It's nothing, and I am happy – and grateful – that I can help. What did you see that was beautiful, Cho?"

"Ummm, Mrs. Martins' dog. We passed her on the bus this morning when she was walking it. It was all brushed out and its fur looked like silk. I love Mrs. Martins' dog."

Tom smiled. He was well acquainted with Queenie, the sable and white Shetland sheepdog that always met him at the door with bright brown eyes and a wide doggy smile. "Yes, she is beautiful. I saw her today, too."

"What did you see that was beautiful, Mama?"

"Your smile."

"Oh, that's not beautiful," Cho said disparagingly.

"It is to me," Masumi answered. Cho pestered her for a few minutes, trying to get her to change her answer, but Masumi wouldn't.

Tom helped to clear the table before he took his leave. He paused at the back door for a moment while Cho was picking up the last few items and Masumi was filling the sink for washing.

"I had a thought this afternoon – if you don't mind, I could take Cho to the Y on Saturdays for the kids kendo class. I know they still hold them. That student of Sasuke's is teaching the kids as well as the adults. I can't teach her anything, but he can. That might get her life back to a little more normal again."

"Oh, but that would mean you have to wait on her during class."

"That's okay. Then I'll know what she's supposed to be focusing on and we can work on that one of the evenings during the week. I think it would work out okay, but only if you say so."

"If you don't mind…"

"I don't."

"Okay. I'll call down to the Y and tell them to expect her. I know she'll want to go. She always enjoyed it, and she said the other night that she missed it. I just didn't know how to get her there."

"Now she has a way. Call me and let me know when class is so I'll know when to pick her up."

"Are you sure? You're not working?"

"Not on a winter Saturday. Summer, yes; winter, no. There's not enough to do to work six days a week during the winter. Just call me."

"Okay." Masumi watched the truck pull out of the driveway through the kitchen window, then turned around to give Cho the news as she walked in with the last of the dinner dishes. That prompted a dance around the kitchen that put the casserole dish in her hands at risk. Masumi plucked it away from her before she could drop at and warned her to settle down or she'd wake her brother. The warning had an instant quieting effect, at least as far as dancing was concerned, but Cho still hummed a big band song she'd heard on the radio while she dried the dishes. The tune was upbeat and bouncy, and conveyed exactly how she felt.

When everything was put away, they settled on the couch to read the letter, Cho tucked against Masumi's side with her legs tucked under her.

"'_Dear Family'," _Masumi read._ "'I am writing in English again because the Japanese censor has the week off. That means I not only write for me in English, I write letters for some of the other men, too, since not everyone here writes English. It gives me something to do, and I like helping them. It also lets me know we are all worried about the same things: how our families are doing, if the bills are getting paid, and if anyone knows what will happen next. I hope you are all okay. I am fine, so don't worry about me. A little bored now and again and sometimes a bit chilly, but then I put on the mittens and socks you knit for me and sit closer to our little stove. The ground is all snow-covered outside and the mountains look beautiful. Did I tell you there are Italian men here, too? We don't see much of them – we are kept pretty separate – but I heard they call the camp 'Bella Vista' which means Beautiful View. They have that right. It is beautiful._

"'_How is Cho doing in school? Please remind her to work hard. A good education is very important. I hope Tatsu-chan isn't giving you any trouble, and he can get outside and work off some energy. _

"'_Have the tax papers come in yet? Keep a watch for them in the mail. It is after New Years so they should be arriving soon. There should be ones from the insurance and the bank, as well as about my earnings from the Y._

"'_I am drawing again. Nothing important, but just to keep busy. All I have is my note paper, so they are small drawings with lines through them. Mostly scenery or still lifes with tin cans, boots, and whatever looks interesting. Sometimes I draw portraits of some of the other people here, but they get self-conscious if they know I am drawing them. Then they get stiff and look funny. I'm enclosing a picture of the view out my window._

"'_I have to stop now. The English censor tells me I write too much! So I am keeping it to one page to make his job easier. Please take care of yourselves and know that I love you and miss you very much. I haven't heard about my review lately but hope that I can see you soon. Your loving Husband and Father, Sasuke.'"_

Masumi turned the page over, and then looked into the envelope again. It was empty. "There's no drawing."

"Did he forget it?" Cho asked. "I want to see what it looks like."

"Maybe. Or maybe the censor has it. I guess they wouldn't let it go through if they thought someone could identify important things in it. That's why they have censors. At least this letter doesn't have any black spots or holes in it, like the last two. Maybe after they look at it and they know there isn't anything important in it, they will send it to us."

"I didn't know Daddy could draw. Just the little doodles he used to do when we played games, like 'hangman'."

"Your daddy used to draw a lot. In fact, he was in college for a graphic arts degree and he wanted to study here. That's why we came to America. He worked at the Y to help support us while I sewed for the tailor shop in Japantown. But he couldn't get a job in that after he graduated because America was in a great economic depression and there were no jobs to be had, so he just kept working at the Y." She didn't say that Japanese weren't hired for professional jobs. They had learned that later, after he'd been turned down several times. Maybe by the time Cho needed to look for work, things would be different.

"What's graphic arts, Mama?"

"The kind of artwork you see in advertising. Like can labels and posters and some of those ads in the newspaper. I'm glad he's drawing again. He was always more relaxed when he was doing that. Maybe it won't seem so bad in Montana if he can draw."

"But then he might forget about us and he won't come back," Cho said, alarmed.

"I doubt that," Masumi said, hugging her. "How could he forget us? Here, let me up. I'm going to look in your baby things. He did a drawing of you right after you were born that was precious. In fact, he spent a lot of time drawing you after you were born."

Cho followed her mother into the bedroom her mother now occupied alone. She sat on the bed while Masumi dug into one of the dresser drawers, finally pulling out a large, fat envelope.

"Here, this is your birth announcement from the hospital, and the little book they gave to all new mothers. Here's how tall you were, and how much you weighed, and right there is your footprint."

"It's really small," Cho said, looking down at her feet for comparison.

"You were really small then. Here it is." The paper was starting to yellow a bit around the edges, but the pencil lines were still clear – a chubby baby face with wisps of dark hair at the crown, eyes closed in sleep, and a tiny cupid-bow mouth showing a cluster of bubbles at the center.

"That's me?"

"That's you. He did a very good job. I really should frame this, but I suppose it's safest now, kept with all the other papers."

Masumi tucked the drawing back into the book. "Well, young lady, time for you to go to bed."

Cho made a face but bounced off the bed. She knew better than to argue; it was already past her usual bedtime. Masumi sat up for several hours more, holding the letter close to her heart while slowly paging through the family photo album, staring intently at each picture of her husband, wishing that just the power of her thoughts could reach him.

_Vocabulary:_

_None that Cho didn't explain, except for 'go', which is a game of strategy, rather like 'othello' or chess._


	9. Chapter 9

February 1942 – Registering and Relocation

It was an uneasy winter. The news from the war front was bad as Japan continued its sweep across the Chinese coast and the Pacific islands. There were several scares about submarines off the California coast, and the state and local governments continued to debate the idea of relocation and the effect it would have on the local economy. Early in February, all Japanese families were ordered to send one responsible party to register the family with the newly-formed War Relocation Authority.

In an effort to stay together as Sasuke wished, Kenshin and Masumi concocted a story of him being a half-brother of Sasuke's to lend legitimacy to his being responsible for the Himura family. Kenshin even produced papers that showed a family connection that appeared to Masumi to be quite authentic. When she asked where he'd gotten them, he'd merely smiled mysteriously and said it was better that she didn't know. On the off-chance they were discovered to be false, he didn't want her to be implicated. Then he was off to the Authority headquarters to register. It was late afternoon before he showed up at the house.

"Did it work?" Masumi asked from the doorway, unable to wait until Kenshin got up to the house.

"No questions," he said, waving a manila folder. "For better or worse, we are now nothing more than a number, and since we all have the same one, they won't separate us or ask any more questions. I took the papers, but they didn't even look at them. All I had to say was that I'm his half-brother and taking care of the family and all they asked was how many members we had and if anyone needed special care, like for the infirm or retarded. Being pregnant doesn't count."

"It will by the time they decide what to do with us," Masumi said ruefully, leading the way to the dining room table. "Part of me just wants the decision made now so I can get on with things and the other part of me hopes they will delay until after the baby is born. And I just know that it will all come down at the worst possible time, just like babies are always born on the hottest or coldest or rainiest days of the year just to add another level of complication."

Kenshin grinned. "Isn't that the truth? So, our family, Niitsu-Himura – sorry, my name came first since I'm being the responsible party – is now registered as family 19949."

"Don't worry, I won't argue about who gets top billing. Not unless we turn into a famous comedy act."

"I'm thinking this whole thing is a circus, but don't get me started. I vented on poor Fitz awhile back when he made the mistake of asking me how things were and that's all the venting I'm doing. I put both addresses down, but I don't know if the notices – if any – will only come to me or if they'll send you a copy, too."

"Was it a problem to put down both addresses? You'd think they'd question your being responsible for us if you don't live here."

"Nope. They have extended families registering under one person, so all the aunts, uncles, and cousins all end up in the same place. They didn't even bat an eye at us. I turned in your camera and my older one – Fitz took a fancy to my newer one and bought it off me. They asked about short-wave radios and guns, but we don't have any and I told them that. You said all Sasuke's swords and armor are at the Y?"

"Yes, they've been displayed there since he started working for them. It helped advertise the class. Mr. Jordan claimed they belonged to the Y so they wouldn't get confiscated, and he said he might take them home to protect them if people get nasty about the display, but otherwise, he was going to leave them in the case. We have a few minor pieces of equipment, maybe a tanto or some kunai, but they are all still packed. They weren't needed for anything, so there was no real reason to get them out yet. I'm rather glad we've taken so long to unpack some of our things."

"That'll be a help if Roosevelt signs this executive order they're talking about. We'll know in the next day or two. If he does, you can bet we'll get relocated. I'm not sure what that's going to entail. They tried getting folks to do that a month ago and there was a problem getting housing and communities blocking any Japanese from living there, so it might take time to find a place to live. If it looks like we don't immediately have a house to put things into, Fitz and I will start putting your things into my attic. I've got plenty of room up there and I'm betting between that and the attic of the garage, we'll be able to fit everything in."

"I hope it doesn't come to that," Masumi said sadly. "What if they make you sell your house?"

"Fitz and I have a deal where he buys it off me for a dollar and I can buy it back for the same after all this is over. If I can come back. If not, we'll work out something that will allow me to get another one elsewhere. I'm hoping we won't have to be doing all this moving, because if nothing else, I'm not looking forward to moving your piano, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared. I'm afraid I just can't be optimistic. Have you gotten all the tax papers yet?"

"Not yet. I think there are still forms from the insurance and a couple investments that haven't come in yet. Sasuke wrote me a letter that has all of them detailed in it. When those come in, then we can sit down and you can walk me through tax preparation. Sasuke's always handled that before so I don't know anything about it."

"They should be pretty straight-forward – unlike mine, because of my business. We'll make it through." Kenshin smiled.

A week later, they heard that Executive Order 9066 had been signed, authorizing the exclusion of all Japanese Americans from the west coast as a 'military necessity'. Masumi, as Issei and classified as an 'enemy alien', had to go to the relocation center to be registered and fingerprinted. Kenshin took her to the center and amused the children while they waited for her. She came back trying to wipe the black ink off her right index finger with little success. She said nothing about it, but Kenshin could tell she was upset and humiliated. They went straight back home.

An 8:00 pm curfew was issued in March, and a five mile travel limit from home was imposed on Japanese Americans. Kenshin carefully measured it out on the odometer on his truck: 4.3 miles to the Himura's, 4.9 miles to the Martins'; he couldn't get to the Regal's home to work there. It was too far away. Several other clients were also too far. He had to call and regretfully inform them that they would have to find someone else as long as the curfew was in effect. It also put an effective end to Cho's kendo lessons at the Y, but Kenshin ran her through her kendo exercises three afternoons a week, and she did them with the same focus and energy she always had. She never bounced off the school bus anymore, though Kenshin never saw her cry again, and she seemed quieter and more thoughtful. She and Lee would go towards their separate houses, calling across the street to each other to affirm homework assignments or make study arrangements. If the weather was fair, she and her friends would often sit on the patio to do homework, occasionally asking him or Masumi questions. Masumi was the one they asked for help in English homework. Having gone through a highly structured series of classes to learn it as a second language, she knew all the grammar rules and could dissect a sentence into all its various parts. Kenshin got the science and history questions. After the homework was done, the girls would quietly play cards or board games.

Tatsuya seemed little changed. His throwing arm was slowly improving and his ball made it over the stone wall more often. It was hard to tell if his volume and willful stubbornness was an effect of not having a male parent in the house or if he was simply being a rowdy two-year-old. On those occasions when he refused to go back inside and threw the ball over the wall, Kenshin simply ignored it and kept working, forcing the boy to give up. It still didn't happen easily or quietly, but he was unable to open the little gate between the lawn and garden by himself and neither adult helped him. His play dates with four-year-old Charlie Anderson made up in volume and action what Cho's lacked. The two chased each other and the ball, often squabbling over possession, while their mothers watched from the patio and talked. Charlie was bigger and heavier, with a blocky build that had endowed him with the nickname of 'Tank' in the Anderson family. Tatsuya was smaller but stubborn, and often showed a natural athleticism that kept him from getting squashed on several occasions. Their antics helped alleviate some of the gloom that seemed to hang in the air as news about the war got worse.

April 1942 – Relocation

Masumi studied the notice in her hand as she walked slowly up to the house, even though she already knew what it said by heart. Her mind was racing through everything that would have to be done. They seemed to have acquired a lot of belongings in ten years, mostly things to do with the kids that she hadn't been able to part with. If she just had the time to go through it all, she knew she could weed out quite a bit of stuff that wasn't necessary anymore, but time was the thing of which she had least. Ten days was all. Ten days to decide what they needed, how much of that they could carry, and what to do with the rest. At least the things that were still packed from the move were things she knew they wouldn't need.

The phone rang just as she came in the back door and she picked it up quickly. She did not need Tatsuya waking up just after she'd finally gotten him down for a nap.

"Hello?" At the sound of the voice on the other end of the line, she switched into Japanese. "Oh, Yuki. How is the flower business?" She picked through the rest of the mail and listened with half an ear as Yuki ran down the list of problems she was currently encountering in getting flowers from the farms for her business, and then the list of all her neighbors' complaints with their businesses. After that, she started in with the neighborhood gossip. Yuki's business was more than just flowers; she was a clearinghouse for information all over Japantown. Masumi didn't mind – it kept her up to date on the doings of her friends, but she was very careful in what information she gave about her own family in return. There were some things that she didn't want to become common knowledge.

"Wait a minute, you did what?" she asked, as one sentence seemed to stand out.

"I said we burned all our photographs from when we were in Japan, and all the ones we brought over. Kisho was afraid it would make the officials think we still had close ties over there."

"You do have close ties over there. Kisho's sister and her family are there, and so are your brothers and parents," Masumi said, putting down all the mail except a postcard from Sasuke. She held it close to her heart but didn't read it. If there was bad news in it, she didn't want to blurt anything out to Yuki, and good news wouldn't go bad if it had to wait a few minutes more.

"Well, yes, but we don't want to show it so blatantly. We also burned the flag Kisho brought over. Masumoto-san burned all her dolls…"

"No! The ones she displayed in her shop window that showed what fashions she could make and that she dressed up in traditional clothes for Girls Day and Boys Day? Why would she do that? They were beautiful." Masumi had worked for Masumoto-san before the move to Berkeley and had enjoyed making miniature clothes for the dolls and rearranging the display in the shop window.

"They were very Japanese. I am telling you, Masumi, you had better get rid of your husband's swords and kendo gear. Your kimono and your other Japan things, too. They could get you in a lot of trouble."

"The swords and other kendo gear are on display at the Y, and Mr. Jordan is caretaking them. He won't let anyone take them away. I can't get rid of the rest. Some of it's not mine to dispose of. Those things have been in Sasuke's family for quite a while, and his father entrusted them to us. And I will not give up my mother's kimono. They are all I have left of her."

"They will get you in trouble," Yuki insisted. "The government will send you back to Japan, or put you in prison, too. Like your husband."

"They're not going to send me back in the middle of a war, and as long as I'm in prison with my children, they can put me wherever they want. They're going to, anyway. I just got the relocation notice in today's mail. I'm going to pack everything up in boxes, and unless the FBI wants to dig through every box in my house – which will take them a long time – no one will know."

"Where are you going to put all the boxes? It costs money to store things."

"Our gardener said I could store them at his house. Did I tell you he's Sauske's half-brother? We didn't know until all this registering and family stuff came up and he found some papers in his grandfather's things. His mother wanted to go back to Japan to remarry after his father died, but since Tom was a boy, she had to leave him with his paternal grandparents. And then she never came back because her new husband wanted to stay in Japan. Strange coincidence, for him to end up as our gardener, ne? Anyway, he has a white friend who is going to be renting from him while we're gone and can care-take everything."

"Yes, I know how some of those white men care-take things. Just like they offer you a fair price. You know those dishes of Yamato-san's, the paper thin ones with the cherry blossoms painted on them? One of the buyers was up here and he offered her only ten dollars for the entire set. It's worth ten times that much. She was so mad she started breaking them on the sidewalk at her feet. That man almost had a heart attack. He kept pleading with her to stop because they were so valuable and she said they couldn't be worth that much since he only offered her ten dollars. She broke every one. The entire set. And then she marched back into her house and slammed the door." Yuki sounded satisfied at the act of defiance.

"Oh dear," Masumi said. It seemed a little drastic, but she understood. Not everyone was as lucky as she was turning out to be, and she wasn't about to let some of her prized possession go to some soulless buyer for a pittance. If she and Sasuke had stayed in Japantown, it might have been her breaking things or tearing up kimono just to keep from being swindled out of their monetary worth. Nothing could equal the sentimental value on those things. "I am so sorry. I wish we could help, but now Japantown is out of the curfew area, so there isn't much we can do. And I'm not sure if Tom's house is going to fit all our things. Just getting it into boxes is the first step. I need to get started on this, Yuki. I need to go; I'm sorry. The best time to do this is when Tatsu-chan is sleeping and he doesn't do it long enough or often enough. And I don't move that fast right now."

She did get some things sorted and packed while Tatsuya slept. She added to the box for the needy that she had started at New Years. It still sat in the basement since she had no way to take it to a drop-off point and she hadn't wanted to impose on Tom yet again. The fact that it hadn't been full had helped her delay, and now she found it filling rapidly. Tatsuya had outgrown many of his cold weather clothes and with the weather outside warming, there seemed no point in keeping them another year.

She stopped for lunch when Tatsuya woke up, and then Karen and Charlie came over to play. She showed the relocation postcard to her friend as she made tea. The boys were engaged with little trucks and cars that Charlie had brought over, flat on their bellies on the floor.

"No! You can't leave," Karen protested. "You're the only other mom in the neighborhood that is home all day. What will I do for adult conversation?" Many of the households consisted of families where the children were grown and gone and the adults had interests that took them away from home. "Lucinda Brooks is teaching all day and all the old ladies who are home either don't want to be around someone with kids or try to tell me how to raise mine. And it's good for Tank to have someone he can't push around who isn't his brother or sister. He's going to be a brat in kindergarten next year otherwise."

"I wish we could stay. This is just the kind of neighborhood we wanted to move into years ago but couldn't find a place."

"Do you know where you're going?"

"I know nothing more than what it says on the card. Some place called Tanforan and don't bring more than you can carry yourself. That's it."

"Tanforan's a race track. For horse racing. That must just be a gathering point for somewhere else. I know there are old CCC camps up in the mountains – maybe they will put you there," Karen suggested. "They're usually rather remote, and that's what it sounds like the government wants."

"What is a CCC camp?"

"That's where they housed the men in the Civilian Conservation Corps back in the '30's. They build roads, trails, the lodges and cabins at Yosemite, things like that. It was part of the President's public works program during the Depression."

"Oh. We didn't hear much about that in Japantown. I guess it wouldn't be bad if it was an established camp, right?"

"I don't know. John's brother worked in one and he said it was pretty rough – rather like being in the army. But they couldn't do that to women and children. They must have houses for you somewhere."

"Well, since I don't know and the notice says only what I can carry, I have to pack up everything. Masumi shrugged. "Tom said he thinks it'll fit in his attic, so it looks like everything I don't need right away will have to go into a box. We still have some that we emptied out after the move, so I'm going to load them up again."

"Need some help? I can't tell what you want to keep and what you want to throw away, or what you need to take with you, but if it's a matter of just putting things in boxes, I can do that."

Masumi smiled. "That will be a big help."

It was a bright, sunny Thursday when Kenshin drove up to the Himura house with Fitz grumbling tiredly in the passenger seat. The Englishman spent many of his evenings in the local bars shooting pool and flirting until the small hours, and being awakened at any hour before noon simply wasn't civilized in his opinion. The fact that Kenshin was so relentlessly cheerful about it didn't help.

"You'll finally get to meet part of the family," he said. "No one's ever met my family before, so you should be feeling honored."

"I'd feel better if you were related to bats, or some other nocturnal creature," Fitz muttered, shading his eyes from the sun. Drinking figured heavily into his nights out and sunlight was currently anathema to him. He straightened up when he spied Masumi standing near the mailbox. Although she was heavily pregnant, he could appreciate that her calves were still shapely and her ankles trim.

"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed.

Kenshin whacked the back of his hand into Fitz's temple in the pretence of turning in the seat to back the truck into the driveway.

"Keep your eyes in your head."

"What?" Fitz asked, with a pretense at innocence.

Kenshin's look plainly said he didn't buy it, but he simply snorted and jumped out of the truck. Fitz followed with alacrity.

"Fitz, this is Masumi Himura," he introduced and Fitz took her hand to bow over it like the most attentive Renaissance courtier. Masumi looked bemused.

Kenshin rolled his eyes and looked at Masumi. "And this overzealous fellow is Hugh Fitzcairn, but you can call him Fitz, like the rest of us do."

"Mr. Fitzcairn," Masumi acknowledged, neatly retrieving her hand when it seemed as if Fitz was going to hang onto it. "How do you do?"

"Right fine and dandy, ma'am. And might I say you are a vision of loveliness for these poor eyes today."

"Um, thank you." She didn't feel lovely. She felt bloated and unwieldy and wished she was done with the pregnancy part and into the admiring the new baby part of the business. "I can make tea, if you'd like a cup before you get started. I just need to pop this letter into the mail for Sasuke, to let him know where we're going."

"That would be wonder…" Fitz began, but Kenshin spoke over him.

"I think we need to get started. We'll have a full day of this as it is."

"Alas, dear lady," Fitz declared sadly, "the slave-driver wields the whip and I must go where directed."

They started with the boxes already packed in the basement, carrying them up and loading them into the back of Kenshin's pickup. When it was full, they took it back to Kenshin's house and carried the boxes into the garage attic, which fortunately had a set of narrow stairs up to it and a full-width plank floor. Half the space was taken up with stacked lumber, rolls of wire fencing, and other items useful for gardening, but there was plenty of room on the other side. When they returned, Masumi introduced Fitz to Karen Anderson, who had come over with Tank. The ladies were continuing to pack as the boys chased each other around the house, sounding like a herd of wild animals as they thudded across the hardwood floors in their socks, making a variety of whooping, bleating, and braying noises.

"Adds a whole new layer of chaos to the proceedings, doesn't it?" Fitz joked as he and Kenshin risked life and limb to maneuver a large box down the migration path from the dining room to the kitchen.

"Nothing better," Kenshin said, hefting his end a little higher. "My goodness, Masumi, what did you pack in this one? The boat anchor?"

"I packed that one," Karen confessed. "It's just linens that weren't needed."

"You'll have to pack lighter for the little guy to manage," Fitz needled. "He's too frail to do a real man's work."

"I'd kick you if this box weren't between us," Kenshin grunted. "Are you moving at all at that end?"

"Sorry, had to wait for the wildebeests to pass."

"We no willy beats. We cowboys an' Indians," Tank declared. "I cowboy, you a Indian." He poked a finger at Tatsuya, who slapped it away.

"No, I cowboy, you In'ian."

"Well, whatever, pardners," Fitz drawled, doing his best to sound like John Wayne, "but you all gotta get out of the road while this here wagon train comes through."

The boys skittered into the living room, still arguing, finally allowing Fitz and Kenshin to move. They filled up the truck with smaller boxes, although since some of them were books, the weight wasn't necessarily less. Masumi and Sasuke were both avid readers in both Japanese and English and had often purchased books if they had liked reading the library copy. They also had many elementary readers in English from their classes that had been passed on to Cho, and others specifically bought for the children. Karen had dutifully packed everything and labeled the boxes. It made for a heavy load.

Kenshin latched the tailgate and then returned to the house to find Fitz, Masumi, and Karen taking a tea break. Masumi pressed a cup into Kenshin's hands when he demurred and insisted they needed to keep moving.

"No, Tom, you need to take a break. Mr. Fitzcairn is right; you work too hard. Unless, of course, you have other clients to visit today. I don't want to keep you from paying work." Masumi looked a little anxious.

Kenshin shot a look under his lashes at Fitz, who smiled just a little too smugly to be completely innocent.

"No, I have nowhere else to be today. Tomorrow, is different. I have to take Fitz down to the employment office so he can see what, if anything, he's good for. I mean at. Good at," he corrected, as Karen laughed into her tea and Fitz's smile lost its smugness.

They continued hauling boxes for the rest of the morning before taking a lunch break. When Kenshin was ready to start taking furniture over in the afternoon, he had to track down Fitz. The older Immortal was laying on his stomach on the floor with Tatsuya and Tank, pushing along a little tin truck and making putting noises. Kenshin leaned against the door frame.

"It takes how many years to be able to do that?"

"More than you've got, laddie buck. You're far too serious. You need a few more before you learn that sometimes there's nothing more important than driving a tin lorry."

At that moment, the car Tank was pushing ran into his truck. Fitz immediately knocked his vehicle over.

"Oh, no, it's an accident! Call an ambulance!" He grabbed the ambulance from the shoebox and drove it somewhat erratically towards the wreck. "Beee-booong, beeee-booong…"

"Dey don't go like that. Dey go wooooooo!" Tank's voice rose in volume accordingly as he grabbed the ambulance away from Fitz. The Englishman flexed his empty hand, looking at it as if he couldn't understand how it got to be that way.

"Come on, then, you've been ousted as a playmate. Probably because you don't make the right noises." Kenshin laughed as Fitz got to his feet.

"I should probably pout or throw a temper tantrum…"

"Don't, please. It's so unbecoming."

They'd gotten most of the living room furniture onto the truck, with much panting and sweating, when the school bus came by, dropping off Cho and Lee.

"Hey, Uncle Tom, what are you doing?" Cho trotted up to them, book bag bouncing against her knee.

"Moving you out. Your stuff is going to my place."

"Oh, can I come?"

"And who is this enchanting creature?" Fitz asked.

"I'm not a creature. I'm Cho!" Cho said indignantly.

Kenshin laughed. "She's got you, Fitz. Cho, this is Mr. Fitzcairn, who is helping me today." He turned towards the road and called out:

"Lee, your mother's over here right now."

"Okay." Lee reversed directions, running across the street to join them.

"'Creature' is often used in England to describe a beautiful woman," Fitz explained to a skeptical Cho.

"It sounds insulting to me," Lee said, coming in at the end of the explanation. "Wow, Cho, your stuff is all on the truck."

"And just like that, I'm dismissed," Fitz muttered. "Who would have thought that the legendary Fitzcairn charm would fail in the face of any female?"

Kenshin was laughing as he turned to Cho, who was tugging insistently on his arm. "It's a tough crowd, Fitz."

"Can we come with you, Uncle Tom? I've never seen your house."

"Ask your mother. You, too, Lee. I think there's room for all of us."

They did fit, barely. The girls wandered through the house while Kenshin and Fitz carried furniture into the attic. Cho was entranced by the wakizashi on the stand in the living room.

"It's so pretty," she said, catching hold of Kenshin as he and Fitz walked through to bring in more furniture. "Is there a katana, too?"

"Yes, it's just not there right now."

"I thought you didn't do kendo."

"I don't. They are heirlooms, passed down from previous generations." There was no point in explaining that his killing sword style was far from the kendo tenants of self-confidence and leadership that she was learning.

"I wish my dad's were as pretty as this one."

"Your dad's looked like very fine swords, from what I could see when we looked at them in the display case." Cho had proudly pointed them out the first time he'd taken her to the Y for class. "Pretty doesn't necessarily make it better."

"I guess. I like the way yours are wood and there's no tsuba and there's all that gold. Is that real gold?"

"Probably. My set is pretty old. Your father's wakizashi has those nice sprays of bamboo leaves painted on the sheath. That's very subtle, and some people find that pretty. They might think this was too fancy."

"Maybe." Cho considered the sword in front of her. She liked fancy things, although neither of her parents seemed too. It drew too much attention, her mother said. Cho had always thought attention was a good thing, until lately. Since the war had started, she didn't care for people paying attention to her. She disliked the stares and the sneers that seemed directed her way now. "I guess if they were prettier, someone might want to steal them, so maybe it's okay that they're plain."

" Mr. Jordan is keeping them safe for your dad."

"He could probably keep yours safe, too, if you asked him."

"I'll bet he could. But Mr. Fitz will be here to keep them and all our stuff safe, mine and yours." Kenshin stroked his hand over her ponytail and tugged on the end. "That's what he's here for."

"And to add grace and charm to any gathering," Fitz huffed, carrying in a chair. "This is the last one. Thanks for helping."

"I knew you could handle it." Kenshin didn't offer to help carry the chair upstairs. It really was a one-man job, and Fitz needed to sweat a bit. He stayed in the living room answering questions from both girls until Fitz came back down. "Okay, girls, ready to go?"

Lee turned from her contemplation of the mantle, where both girls had been examining and giggling over the netsuke figures. "Can we ride in the back of the truck?"

"Don't see why not. Just stay down so you don't fall out. I'd hate to lose one of you."

By the time they finished, the house looked bare and the rooms echoed forlornly. They'd left mattresses on the floor to sleep on, a few sets of clothes, towels and toiletries, and some dishes. Masumi's camp bundle, stuffed with things she thought they'd need, was in one corner of the living room looking like a huge ungainly heap. Suitcases and duffle bags sat next to it, all packed for whatever was to come. Kenshin kept reminding her that they'd have to be able to carry it all, but the pile didn't seem to get much smaller. Amy's father came home from work with a wheeled dolly and he, John Anderson, Fitz, and Kenshin moved the piano across the street to the Anderson home. They'd agreed to keep it for the duration of whatever was coming, and Karen announced that both her children could now take lessons. Lee seemed much more enthusiastic than her older brother, Ricky.

They all trooped to the Brooks home for dinner, and despite the sadness of the occasion, the dinner was merry. Harry Brooks had come from England years before, and he and Fitz knew some of the same places, mostly falling under the headings of 'cities' and 'bars'. Both had a wealth of humorous stories to tell. The party didn't go too late, since the children had school the next day.

After she got Tatsuya and Cho to bed on mattresses in the living room, Masumi wandered the rest of the house silently, checking closets and cabinets to make sure all were empty. They next day, she and Kenshin would clean them all, and finish emptying out the kitchen. She finally settled on the steps to the upstairs, the only thing left to sit on, put her head on her arms and cried. Everything she'd wanted for life in this new house had fallen apart. There was no guessing what Saturday would bring.

-----------

_A/N: For those of you used to my frequent updates, sorry about the wait. It's easy to update frequently when your writing stays ahead of your publishing. That's all shot, now. :) I'm not including any vocabulary this time - I think you've seen them all by now. If I used something you don't know, email me and I'll make a note for next chapter. Or update it. Or something. And as usual, I don't own Rurouni Kenshin, Highlander, or John Wayne. twp_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 – May 1, 1942 - Off to the races – sort of

Kenshin arrived at the Himura house promptly at seven o'clock in the morning. Masumi was sitting on the front porch step talking to her neighbors while all the children sat in a solemn line on the low rock wall around the front flowerbed. Kenshin greeted them, and started loading the suitcases, duffles, and camp bundle into the truck, with John Anderson's help. The last of the things needing to be stored were put in at the back, so that he and Fitz could unload them easily. A few minutes later, Mrs. Martins pulled up in her car and got out, balancing a box in one hand.

"I didn't know if you'd have time for breakfast, so I brought doughnuts," she said. There was enough for everyone, with one left over because Masumi broke hers in half and shared it with Tatsuya, unconsciously shredding her half into the flowerbed with nervous fingers. Talk was stilted; no one really knew what to say. Ricky Anderson grabbed the last doughnut after wolfing down his first. That earned him a scolding from Lee, and when he made a disparaging remark about girls with only three letters in their names, Amy stuck her tongue out at him and Cho punched him in the arm. His yelp of pain seemed to galvanize the adults into action.

"We'd better get going," Kenshin said. "Fitz is making breakfast, and he'll take us over to the Civil Control Station when we're done. And we have this last bit to put into storage. We shouldn't take too long."

John helped Masumi to her feet, and after hugs all around – and handshakes between the men – they piled into the car. Masumi kept her face turned to the side window as they pulled away, pretending to watch her friends out of sight, and getting a last look at the neighborhood.

Fitz's breakfast was excellent, but no one, including Fitz, truly did it justice, although Masumi encouraged the children to eat since they didn't know when or where lunch would be. When even picking at the food came to an absolute standstill, Kenshin and Masumi caught each other's eyes and stood together.

"We should get going," she said. "I don't want to be too late."

"We're still on track," Kenshin said.

"I'll wash up when I get back," Fitz said, as Masumi picked up dishes and took them into the kitchen.

"Oh, we can't leave you with all this," she protested.

"My lady, I have nothing but time," Fitz said gallantly.

"Which will be remedied if you ever get a job." Kenshin couldn't resist the dig.

"That will not be today. Today there are other priorities."

"Yes. We can't put it off any longer. Let's go." Kenshin took the plates from Masumi's hands and set them on the counter. "Come on."

He and Fitz put the mattresses and the last few boxes into the garage attic and transferred the duffles and camp bundle into the trunk of Sasuke's car. Fitz had bought it from Masumi, with Kenshin standing behind him shaking his head and making hand signals to encourage Masumi to haggle the price upward to what it was worth. Every time Fitz looked behind him, Kenshin gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look that the older Immortal couldn't penetrate. Kenshin's large backpack and a smaller daypack followed the other luggage and then they all climbed in and Fitz backed down the driveway.

"Don't forget to put the truck up on blocks if you're not going to drive it," Kenshin said. "It'll save the tires from going flat."

"Yes, Mr. Worry-wart, I'll see to it this week. I'm hardly likely to drive it. Not only would I not want to be caught dead in that rolling rust-ball, I wouldn't want anyone to think I actually do hard manual labor."

"No one who looks at you would suspect such a thing were possible," Kenshin said dryly.

"And rightly so. I am a man of taste and refinement," Fitz agreed, ignoring the snicker from the seat behind him, where Kenshin sat with the children.

The area around the First Congregational Church was roped off, with police directing traffic. Luggage was piled along the sidewalks for a block and all of it, and the people milling nearby, were tagged with their family numbers. A line of people stretched from the curb up to the door as the family heads checked in. They found a place to unload the luggage and Masumi sat on the folding camp stool that Kenshin quickly unlashed from his pack.

"I'll go check us in," he said.

"I've got to go," Fitz said, gesturing at the car. "I can only stop so long. Let me know where they put you and if they allow visitors, and I'll pop by when I can."

"Thanks, Fitz."

"Yes, thank you so very much, Mr. Fitzcairn," Masumi bowed as best she could from her seat.

The two men walked towards the end of the line.

"If you need anything, let me know."

"I'll do that." Kenshin held out his hand. "Keep an eye on things."

Fitz took his hand. "I'll do that," he echoed. He started back down the walk to the car, and then turned back. "K…Tom. Watch your head."

Kenshin looked back over his shoulder and lifted a negligent hand. "Always."

They waited an hour before a bus pulled up in front of the church. After reassuring themselves that their luggage was loaded, people started getting on, checking their family numbers against the list held by one of the church members stationed at the door of the bus. Masumi settled back gratefully onto a seat that was wider, if not noticeably more comfortable, than the camp stool. Cho sat next to her and Kenshin took the part near the aisle, holding Tatsuya on his lap. It took a while for everyone to get settled, but the bus finally lurched on its way to the holding center at Tanforan racetrack. The only time anyone said anything was when the Golden Gate Bridge came in sight, and then there was a murmur of voices and some muffled crying. No one was sure if they'd ever see it again. The sight of the racetrack surrounded by ten-feet-high fence with two strands of barbed wire at the top brought home the message of imprisonment forcefully.

They were herded through a series of rooms to fill out more papers, have their luggage checked for contraband, such as cameras, radios, or weapons, and get a cursory physical examination. Tatsuya, who went through the male line with Kenshin, created a small pocket of chaos as he tried to get back to his mother, wanted to explore, and displayed his temper for the doctors. Kenshin was sure they passed through quicker than the rest because the examiners wanted to get rid of them. Both the luggage check and the physical exams were cursory. The only hold-up was Kenshin's pocket knife. The examiners called it a weapon; Kenshin insisted, in his best harmless rurouni fashion, that the three-inch blade was only used on wood. He even produced a half-carved figure to prove his point. A supervisor was finally called over, the whole thing rehashed again, and finally they allowed him to keep it. He and Tatsuya met up with Masumi and Cho at the other end of the line before being let through another gate with their housing assignment typed on a card grasped in one hand and their lighter luggage in the other. Of the luggage that had gone into the belly of the bus, there was no sign.

Yuki and Kisho Fukuzaki, their two teenage sons, and some of Masumi's other Japantown friends met them after they came out of the administration center. Masumi introduced Kenshin using the story they'd concocted, and everyone seemed to accept him easily enough.

"Looks like we're assigned to Barrack 16, Apartment 28," Kenshin read off the card they'd been given.

"Oh, that's at the far end of the track, near us," one of the boys said. They had apparently checked out every corner of the facility already, even though they'd only arrived the day before. "Come on; we'll take you there."

"What about our other things?" Masumi asked.

"They'll bring that around later in a truck," Yuki assured her. "I hope you don't have anything breakable in it. Sometimes they're not very gentle."

They moved in a slow, chattering group around the end of the grandstand and as the track came in sight, trampled and muddy, in Kenshin's vision, it shifted and became a smooth turf surface, the grandstand filled….

_Kenshin tried hard to concentrate on the trainer who walked beside him, leading the big bay stallion into the paddock. He was being given instructions for the race, and they were important, but that sick-to-the-stomach feeling was after him again and he was having a hard time paying attention. It wasn't the salad he'd had for lunch or the roll from yesterday's baking that went with it. He knew this feeling. It was being watched by someone, or someones, like him, but stretching out with his ki, he felt nothing hostile. There was curiosity and a natural amount of wariness, but that was all. Two people, his ki said, and both on the other side of his horse beyond the paddock fence. A couple men come to see the race then, and into it enough to want to see the horses close up._

_"Riders up!" came the call, and Mr. Ballough, the trainer, bent and cupped his hands for Kenshin's knee, tossing him easily into the saddle._

_"Now remember, hold him back a bit after the break and you get in front. He'll want to run, but you don't want him running too hard too soon…"_

_It was all what Kenshin had heard before, the way they'd run the practices. He surreptitiously looked for and spotted his men as he tucked his feet into the high stirrups and tested their position on the balls of his feet, standing slightly to ensure he had a sturdy platform under him. Satisfied, he tugged the green silk hat further over his eyes, shading them and hiding his expression a bit as he tipped his head towards the trainer and watched the other two. Their attention had riveted on him shortly after he'd found the irons with his feet, and he knew they were assessing him as much as he was them. What he saw were two European men, possibly British although the taller one was dark enough to have Spanish or Italian blood, both dressed fashionably although not at the height of fashion. Not aristocracy, then, but not tradesmen, either. The taller one appeared aloof and well put-together, both physically and sartorially, while the shorter one had a slightly rumpled, care-free appearance. His face was open and friendly-looking under closely-trimmed curly blondish-brown hair. The friendly-looking one raised a hand just as the call to line up for post parade went out, and Kenshin had to concentrate on gathering the reins and controlling his suddenly dancing mount as the horses jostled into position. _

That had been the first time he'd seen Fitz and Duncan MacLeod, over two decades before. Both had become friends, though he saw them rarely. Most Immortals, even if friendly, didn't hang around each other for long lengths of time. He was never more thankful for that friendship than he was now, trekking his way around the track, daypack hanging from his shoulders, Tatsuya on one hip, and holding the little boy's bag with his other hand. He'd been a slave before and subject to the will of others, but this was the first time for imprisonment. It was good to know Fitz was relatively near on the outside if he needed assistance.

It was a long trek around the track. It had rained the day before, and with all the people who had gone through the area, it was a sea of mud. Masumi was glad she hadn't dressed up like many of the women had. There wasn't much point, in her opinion, of dressing up when one was eight months pregnant. She was as big as a horse, which made being shipped to a racetrack somewhat appropriate. She was not prepared for the accommodations when they got there.

"A horse stall?!" Masumi exclaimed, aghast. "They want us to live in a horse stall? With no proper door, wind blowing through the walls, and…and…" Her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"They said they were cleaned," Kenshin offered hesitantly.

Masumi glared at him. "Only a man would think this is clean! I'm going to find a broom, a bucket, and whatever else I can in this kami-forsaken place…"

"We'll get them; we know where everything is. We had to clean ours yesterday," the boys said and dashed off.

"You come with me, Masumi-chan," Yuki clucked. "You need to sit down and get off your feet. You can take care of the children, Niitsu-san," she ordered over her shoulder as she steered Masumi several more stalls down the row. They left the man and children standing amidst their pitifully few belongings at the front of the stall. It was split into two rooms, each about ten feet square, and separated by a door that split into an upper half and a lower half. The back part had been where the horse was kept, and the front had been where the tack and feed had been stored. It was clear the cleaning had been a slap-dash job. A slab of linoleum had been laid over the dirt floor of each half and the dirt had started creeping back over top of it. A layer of white wash had been painted over the rough boards, which were chewed down in places, and since there had been no attempt to wash them down first, bits of hair, dirt, insects, and less savory things had been caught and preserved.

"Is Mama mad?" Cho asked, clinging tightly to her bag with one hand and just as tightly to Kenshin's hand with the other. Her eyes were wide and frightened.

"A little, but not at us," Kenshin said, setting Tatsuya down and crouching between the children. "She's frustrated and a little scared, like we are, but she's got a friend to help her out. We need to help her too, because it's not easy to work when you're going to have a baby. And she shouldn't work too hard."

Tatsuya gazed after his mother, a frown beginning to pucker his eyebrows. Sensing a growing storm, Kenshin tried to think of something to divert the little boy's attention. Cho beat him to it, producing a ball from her bag and, calling her brother's name, tossed it gently at him. He completely missed the catch, but toddled happily after the ball, fumbled to pick it up, and threw it in Cho's general direction. She picked it up and tossed it to Kenshin, who tossed it to Tatsuya, and they had a three-way game of ball-toss going. At least, they did until Kenshin started surreptitiously looking around instead of minding the game. There, at the end of the stable block, standing with his legs spread wide, arms folded across his chest, was a man in a suit, staring intently toward them. The ball bounced off Kenshin's head.

"Oro?"

"Uncle Tom, you're not paying attention!" Cho said, picking up the ball because it had rolled back towards her.

"No, I guess not. Look, there're the boys with the cleaning stuff. I'll need to help them. Can you keep Tatsu-chan busy?"

Cho nodded.

"Okay, stay right here where we can see you."

Kenshin and the two boys, Hiroki and Daisuke – though Kenshin couldn't tell which was which – made short work of sweeping, then scrubbing the stall. Kenshin stepped out at one point in the process to toss a bucket of dirty water into the ditch in front of the stable row and glanced down the length of it, but the man he'd seen was nowhere in sight. He shrugged and went back to working. The stall was considerably less white-washed by the time they were done, but it was cleaner. The boys dashed off with the mattress covers they'd been given to fill them with hay, and by the time they came back looking like giant mattress sandwiches with legs, Kenshin had gotten the cots set up and the small suitcases and packs inside. The big suitcases and the camp bundle hadn't arrived yet. The boys took the buckets, brooms, and mops back to wherever they had gotten them, sticking their heads into their own stall to inform their mother and Masumi that all was set to rights. Kenshin could tell as she walked in that it would never be completely right with Masumi, but she accepted the effort with good grace.

They stood in line almost forty-five minutes for dinner, and when they arrived at the service counter, it was to have the man behind the counter plop two canned sausages on each plate with his fingers. There weren't any potatoes left, so the only other thing available was plain white bread. They managed to find a spot at the end of one table to sit at, but no one was terribly hungry and the food was less than appetizing. Kenshin tried to sandwich the sausage between the bread, but gave up after the first bite, making a face as he swallowed. Cho nibbled on the end of a sausage, and Masumi just rolled them across her plate as Tatsuya demolished a piece of bread.

"I hate to throw food away," Kenshin said, "But let's go back to the stall. I've got some things in my daypack we can nibble on that's better than this."

"If the camp bundle would come, I've got a hot plate in it. We could at least have some hot tea." Masumi stood up, gathering plates in one hand and Tatsuya's hand in the other. Cho popped to her feet, dropping the sausage back onto her plate.

They washed the plates in one of the restrooms on the way back since the water was warmer there. There was a wooden crate that had once held fruit sitting near the side of the building, and after a half-second of considering, Kenshin picked it up and carried it along. He set it in the outer room of the stall so that it functioned like a little table. He was digging into his daypack to find his supplies when a truck pulled up outside the door and a voice called:

"Niitsu-Himura? Your stuff's here!"

A couple cheerful-looking young men heaved Masumi's camp bundle, large suitcase, and Kenshin's backpack over the rail of the truck. Kenshin managed to catch the camp bundle before it hit the ground since it was the last of their things off the truck. It almost knocked him over.

"Thanks, guys!" he called, and they waved as they bumped down to the stall a couple doors down.

"Now we're cooking!" he said as he brought the luggage in. He dug around in his pack until he brought out a large pot. "I'm going to get water. Dig out your hot plate, Masumi."

By the time he got back, the hot plate was sitting on the crate he'd scavenged, cord plugged into the light bulb socket hanging from the ceiling, and Masumi and Cho were in the back part of the stall making up the cots. Kenshin dug back into his bag and pulled out the bag of rice and the little jar of spices he'd mixed together before he'd left home and put some on to boil. Then he made up his own cot in the front room, laying down the two army blankets they'd been given over the straw tick and rolling his sleeping bag lengthwise along the back so that it made a rough sofa. He also brought in the bench that sat in front of the stall, thinking they were lucky no one else had confiscated it yet. After a while he threw some dried seaweed and tuna flakes into the rice pot and let it keep cooking, testing it periodically until it was done.

"Dinner's ready," he said quietly towards the back of the stall. No point in saying it too loudly or they might have guests, and possibly more than they could handle, given how bad dinner had been. Both children were in their pajamas with their coats on over them when they came out. The evening was getting later and with the sun gone, the stall was more than a bit chilly. The one bare bulb in the center of the ceiling provided a meager light, and no heat. They crowded next to the hot plate for warmth as Kenshin dished up rice onto their plates.

"Cho-chan, you may sit on my cot to eat, but be careful because I have to sleep there and I don't want to sleep in rice," he directed. "Tatsu-chan, you can sit on the bench, but let your Mother sit first; she's had a hard day carrying your brother or sister around."

Masumi held the little boy's plate while he scrambled onto the bench, refusing help from either of the adults. She handed it back to him after he settled, and then took her own from Kenshin. He dished up the last of the rice onto his own plate and sat down on his camp stool.

"Itadakimasu," Masumi said, and Cho echoed her.

"You're welcome," Kenshin replied. "Sorry, I don't remember the right word, but at least I know what you mean. So, Cho, what are you thankful for today?"

"Ummm, that you brought food with you?" She sneaked a glance at her mother, wondering if that was an appropriate thing to be thankful for. Masumi just smiled.

"So am I," Kenshin agreed, eyes twinkling. "Masumi?"

"That we are together."

"So am I. Doubly grateful tonight." All agreed that the Golden Gate Bridge had been beautiful; there hadn't been too much else about the day that had been.

"This is really good, Uncle Tom," Cho said, halfway through her plateful.

"It's very fortunate that you thought to bring all this," Masumi agreed.

Kenshin grinned. "They said we were going to a camp, so I packed like I was going camping – useful things and lots of dried food. It won't take the place of eating at the mess hall like we're supposed to – I didn't bring enough to do that for long, but it'll do if we get a meal or two as inedible as tonight's."

"I hope it gets better."

"So do I."

"They're obviously not prepared to have to serve this many people, not for food or much of anything else. You have to wonder how much risk there would have been to letting us stay at home for a few more weeks." There was only sadness in her voice. Masumi pushed her rice around for a minute, then said, "I wonder if Sasuke is doing okay."

"They've been there longer than us; surely it's more organized there. His last postcard sounded like he was busy enough, organizing exercise sessions for the other men."

"And dancing," Masumi smiled.

"They'd better get something like that organized here, or people are going to get restless and start making trouble. That's just human nature – you get a bunch of folks in one place with nowhere to go and nothing to do and trouble just pops up like air bubbles in boiling rice." Kenshin took the empty plates and stacked them in the rice pot. "I'll clean this up. Looks like we've got some tired children on our hands."

Masumi heaved herself to her feet, rubbing her back as she did. "Come along, children. Put your boots on; we have to go to the latrine before bed. Cho, where did you put the bathroom things?"

"On your cot, Mama," Cho said, muffling a yawn behind her hand. "I'll get them."

Even with scrubbing out the dishes and attending to his own bedtime ritual – which now included lining up with a couple dozen other men at the trough that served as a sink, Kenshin made it back to the stall before Masumi and the children.

"It's inhuman to house a pregnant women so far from the latrine," she huffed as they arrived. "Luckily, a couple young girls let me cut the line in front of them so I didn't have to wait so long."

"Here's my flashlight, if you have to get up during the night," Kenshin said, setting it on the bench. "There aren't any lights out there."

"In that case, I might hike up my nightgown as soon as I'm away from the stall," Masumi joked. "No one will be able to tell me from the horses, and I might get more privacy. There aren't any walls between the commodes. They're all just set in a line."

They tried to settle down for the night. Masumi and the children climbed into their cots in the back of the stall while Kenshin turned off the light. Then he changed jeans for sweat pants and took off his flannel shirt, setting his clothes on the army blanket and then spreading his sleeping bag over top and crawling in. All down the stable row, they could hear the other people talking, shuffling around, and trying to get settled, too. As tired as they were, it was difficult for the children to sleep. The wind whistled down from the north, flooding the stable with the chill right off the bay.

"I'm cold, Mama," Cho said after a while, her voice muffled in the dark.

"I know, honey, I am, too. Pull the blankets up over your head." Masumi's voice was quiet, trying to be both soothing and mindful that everyone could hear everything in this place and not wanting to bother the people around them.

"I am, but I'm still cold. Can I sleep with you?"

"Tatsu-chan is already with me. There's not enough room on this cot for all of us."

"But I'm really cold," Cho insisted, her voice taking on the whine of over-tired child.

"Masumi, Tatsuya can come up here with me," Kenshin said. "I'm pretty warm. You girls can use Cho's blankets, too, and that will help."

"Oh, I don't want to trouble you, Tom. And Tatsu-chan still wets now and again. I don't want him to mess up your sleeping bag."

"He's no trouble. We'll set some rules." Kenshin got up and turned on the light. "Come here, Buddy. We'll have the guy room up front. You don't want to be one of the girls, do you?"

Tatsuya slid out from under the blanket and toddled straight to Kenshin, holding up his arms to be picked up. Cho wasted no time dragging her blankets to her mother and crawling in with her.

Kenshin turned and sat down on his cot, holding Tatsuya in his lap. "Okay, rule number one: no peeing in the bed. You gotta go, you wake me up and we go together, all right?"

Tatsuya nodded vigorously. "No pee," he said, grinning. Mama never let him say that word.

"Rule number two: no thumb sucking. Great samurai never suck their thumbs. It looks silly and if they get into a fight, they might bite it off. Yucky. Got it?"

"No thumb," Tatsuya repeated. Kenshin could hear Cho giggling in the back of the stall.

"Okay, spit on your hand and shake, it's a deal," Kenshin said, suiting action to word and holding out his hand. Tatsuya's spit was more like a drool but they shook on it anyway. In the back, Cho was saying "Ewwww!"

"Okay, wipe your hand on your jammies. We don't break deals, remember. Great samurai always keep their word." Kenshin got up to turn off the light again.

"Do great samurai spit on their hands, too?" Masumi asked dryly, wondering just what she'd let herself in for with this man helping her with the children.

"If they make solemn pledges they do," Kenshin said cheerfully, and climbed back into the sleeping bag, helping Tatsuya tuck his feet inside and putting the boy's back to his chest as he reached around for the zipper. "Okay, Buddy, snug as a bug in a rug. You go to sleep now." As if on cue, Tatsuya yawned widely. Within minutes, he was asleep.

Kenshin awoke to something patting him on the face.

"Unca Tom. Unca Tom."

"What is it, Tatsu-chan?" he whispered.

"Gotta pee."

"Okay. Let me unzip us." He fumbled with the zipper in the dark and finally got it open. "Get your coat and slippers on." Kenshin stuffed his own feet into his hiking boots without bothering with socks and laced them up. By the time he pulled on his coat, Tatsuya was dressed and shuffling his feet.

"Gotta pee, Unca Tom," he said urgently.

"I know. Come on, I'll carry you. It's too muddy for you to walk in your slippers." He let them quietly out the door and walked swiftly to the latrine, the faint moonlight enough to guide him.

"You know what to do, right?" he asked when they got there. Tatsuya nodded, taking off his coat and handing it to Kenshin. Then he looked around.

"Potty?" he asked, pointing toward the double row of toilets down the middle of the room. Most were occupied, even though Kenshin's inner clock told him the hour was late. With no partitions, everyone was studiously ignoring each other to provide the only measure of privacy they had.

"Urinal," Kenshin said, pointing to the trough on the opposite side of the room from the sink trough, where a couple other men were lined up. "This is pee only."

As Tatsuya approached it, there was an obvious problem: the boy was too short. Obviously the army had never had to deal with two-year-olds. Kenshin found a spare nail sticking out of a beam and hung Tatsuya's coat on it.

"Here you go," Kenshin said, lifting the boy so that he could stand on the edge, and then holding him steady. "Shoot toward the middle." Tatsuya pulled his pajama bottoms down and did as ordered, and Kenshin set him back onto the floor when he was finished. "Okay, put yourself back together, wash your hands over there, and put your coat back on. My turn now, since you have me awake."

When he came back from washing his hands, Tatsuya was finishing a valiant try at buttoning his coat and trying to figure out why he had a button at the bottom and no hole for it on the other side.

"Hey, you've got drunken buttons," Kenshin grinned. A couple of the other men chuckled, and one said, "I've had those myself."

Tatsuya looked down at his coat. "Dwunken butn?"

"Yep, you're all lopsided. Ah, don't worry; you don't have to have that on for long." He picked up the boy and headed back to the stable row. "You did a good job, waking me up like that. Thank you."

"Wule one," Tatsuya said, resting his head on Kenshin's shoulder.

"Yep, rule one. Very good."

"Hungee."

"You're hungry?" Tatsuya nodded in response, but didn't lift his head. "Can't help that, Buddy. The kitchen's not awake. It's only…" He lifted his free arm, trying to catch the moonlight on the face of his watch. "_Kami_, child, it's two-thirty in the morning. The kitchen won't be awake for hours."

"Hungee."

"We'll have to wait. Let's just go back to bed. By the time we wake up, the kitchen will be awake, too, and we can have breakfast. Hopefully, it will be better than the dinner they made."

By the time they got back to the stall and settled on the cot again, Tatsuya was fast asleep against Kenshin's chest, and Kenshin followed him soon after.


	11. Chapter 11

May 1942 - Settling In

Barrack 16 sat away from all the others, adding a little privacy but also more distance to any of the facilities. It was the only one with a raised walkway around it. There was a clump of trees off to one side and the grass between the building and the fence, no longer mowed, was quickly trampled as the children played on it. In one corner, another barrack was being built, squeezed in between the ones already there. There was a rumor that it might be a new mess hall, to take the pressure off the one near the grandstand and be closer to the people at the far end of the track compound. Other rumors said it would be a barrack to house people, just like the ones going up in the infield of the track. Soldiers patrolled the fence; young men who mostly didn't look old enough to be wearing a uniform and were often unsure why they were there. Some of them poked treats through the links for the children or talked to the girls bold enough to approach.

Kenshin proved to be a master scrounger in the first few days they were there. Somehow he came up with enough lumber and nails to build a short ramp for Tatsuya and the other little boys to access the urinal in the bathroom - and then nailed it to the floor so it wouldn't get carried away to another bathroom. He also built a lounge chair made of wooden slats for Masumi to sit on. It was tall enough that getting on and off it wasn't a problem for her, and sanded smooth so she wouldn't get any splinters. He set the slats of the lower back portion so that they curved to support her spine and the excess weight she carried, and it propped her feet up. Her ankles had begun to swell now that she was in the last month of the pregnancy and she was forced to do so much standing and walking. He'd move it to the small clump of trees in the morning, and she could sit while she sewed tiny clothes for the baby. He'd move it back to the base of the walkway near their stall in the evening. Many of the other women in the stable row often sat with her when they weren't waiting in line for something, doing their own hand work and gossiping. No one wanted to spend any more time than they had to in the stalls. With the growing warmth of the season, the smells were getting riper and more offensive.

The smallest children stayed closest to the group of mothers, carefully watched by all the women, and sharing – with greater or lesser grace – the toys available. The grade-school aged children mostly stayed within sight, but some would occasionally ask to visit friends in another barrack. Eventually, the asking stopped and they did as they pleased, relatively safe in the controlled environment. It wasn't long before most of the teenagers disappeared from parental control entirely, as they became more comfortable with their surroundings. The escalating breakdown in family structure was a frequent topic around the sewing circle, but no one had any effective ideas about how to stop it.

Masumi was happy her children stayed close. Tatsuya played with the other toddlers, sharing his ball easily, but not the carved wooden bear that Kenshin had given him on their third day at the track. It had been the half-carved figure he'd used to justify keeping his pocket knife, and he'd told Tatsuya all about grizzly bears when he'd gifted the boy with it. Since it was new, sharing was not an option to Tatsuya. Cho rarely mixed with the other children her age. She had renewed acquaintance with some of the girls she'd known in Japantown, but didn't seem inclined to play much with them. She would play with Tatsuya or sit next to Masumi's chair on one of the army blankets and practice sewing on scraps of cloth, but never had much to say and would simply shrug if someone suggested she play with the others.

The membership of the sewing circle fluctuated with whatever else needed doing, and several of the women, Yuki included, cheerfully added Masumi's laundry to their own, insisting that she shouldn't be waiting in line for a washtub to bend over in her condition. Tom had tried to do it, only to be badgered out of line and the laundry taken from him, as the women insisted that laundry was not a man's responsibility. Nonplussed, he had watched them slowly disappear into the laundry building, aware that the witnesses to the event were trying hard not to laugh out loud at him. He'd finally wandered away and gotten absorbed into a group of men determinedly building a garden in the center of the racetrack.

Everyone knew the relocation to the racetrack was temporary, but it didn't matter. There was nothing else to do and plenty of time, so the garden, complete with a pond, slowly began to take shape in an area not slated for more barracks. There were several dozen men involved, including Kisho and both his sons. The boys weren't entirely thrilled to be put to hard labor, but Kisho insisted it was good for them.

"Good for me, too," he confided to Kenshin, "Knowing those two aren't getting into trouble somewhere."

Kenshin was enjoying getting to know them, as well as doing the work at hand. He hated being idle and there was too much opportunity for that. Kisho was as quiet and steady as his wife was gossipy and volatile. He thought much and said little, and if something was worthwhile, he worked at it until it was achieved. His older son, Daisuke, was a lot like him, although at sixteen, he still had enough boy in him to be up to some pranks. Hiroki, two years younger and more like his mother, was short-tempered and opinionated and more inclined to disappear during the course of the day. Not everyone considered his disappearances a bad thing.

Those not participating in the actual construction would watch from the grandstand, one of the few places that had some protection from the wind off the ocean and didn't smell like horses. Several times, Kenshin got the odd sensation of being watched by another Immortal, but the man was hard to spot. There were so many people sitting in the stands or passing by that the man blended with the crowd.

As they left the mess hall on their first Saturday after their arrival, a runner from the front gate stopped to tell Masumi that a Mr. Swindon was waiting in the visitation room to see her. Since Cho begged to be allowed to come along, and it was the first animation she'd shown since arrival, Masumi gave her permission. Kenshin cheerfully offered to take Tatsuya off her hands and the two boys headed off to check out the mud hole that Kenshin and Kisho insisted would eventually be a garden.

Todd Swindon looked a little ill at ease waiting in the big room at the top of the grandstand that had been set aside for visits from the outside. Masumi couldn't tell if it was because of the situation or the fact that he appeared to be carrying a purse. As she got closer, she could see it was a bulging tote bag. He set it on the floor and bowed to her as she approached, and she laughed and held her hands out to him.

"No need to be so formal. I am so happy to see you,"

"Not really sure what the protocol is for meeting _sensei_'s wife without him present," Todd said gruffly. "You're looking none the worse for wear. Is it as bad as it seems from here?"

"It's certainly not as good as home, but we're doing okay. _Shikata ga nai_, you know – it can't be helped. It is good of you to come."

"How are you doing, little lady?" Todd asked, giving Cho's shoulder a squeeze.

"Okay," she said. "I miss being home, and class, and Daddy."

"It's tough, isn't it?" He gestured towards the tote bag. "I brought you some letters from the students and staff, and the wife packed along some treats for you. We heard they weren't really prepared for you here. We've all written letters, too, to the mayor, governor, General DeWitt…even the President. Don't know if it'll do any good, but we don't know until we try."

"We appreciate that. Please thank everyone for us."

They talked for a little while longer, with Todd filling Cho in on what had been going on with the children's class since she'd left it, and letting Masumi know what was going on in the community and the broader war news. There was no way, so far, of learning what was going on outside the camp. Then he left, with promises of future visits.

On the way back, Masumi stopped to see what was available in the little hospital quarters. Like everywhere else, people were lined up waiting, mostly with colds or intestinal disorders brought on by the primitive conditions. She saw only a couple nurses, who seemed somewhat bored by the line of patients and the requisite paperwork, but even so, she didn't want to disrupt them and ask questions. The doctor wasn't in sight. At least the hospital was in a wing under the grandstand and cleaner than the stables.

She and Cho headed back towards their stall, carrying the tote bag between them. They had to stop several times to rest. Between the weight of the bag and the awkward way they had to carry it, it wasn't an easy trip and they were happy to finally approach the building, angling to go around one end.

When they turned the corner and started down the row towards their stall, Masumi stopped abruptly, forcing Cho to stop also. She smiled at the sight before her. Kenshin was stretched out on the lounge, which had been moved out of the shade of the building, Tatsuya cradled against his chest to keep from falling off. Both were sound asleep. A few feet away, a woman sat sketching the scene, absorbed in her work.

After cautioning Cho to be quiet, the two approached slowly. The artist noticed them anyway, smiling as she looked up.

"I hope you don't mind," she said. "Your husband and son looked so cute together, I had to try to capture that. I'm Miné Okubo, your neighbor in stall 45."

"Oh, I don't mind," Masumi said, a little embarrassed. "I am Masumi Himura, this is Cho, and that little noise-maker is Tatsuya. My husband, Sasuke, is in a camp in Montana. This is his half-brother, actually, Tom Niitsu." She hated the lie about the relationship, but it was simpler and more socially acceptable than the truth.

"Really? Well, the family resemblance is really strong. Neither your husband or his brother will ever be able to deny that child is part of the family." She grinned. "Even if they might want to." It hadn't taken long for Tatsuya's two-year-old temper to become almost legendary.

Masumi winced, both embarrassed and intrigued by the woman's comments. "We're really sorry about that. It's bad enough being two, but it's worse when your whole world falls apart."

"Oh, I sympathize with him. In fact, I wish I could just pitch a temper tantrum every now and then, but I'm afraid at my age, it doesn't go over so well." She turned the sketch book so they could see it, since Cho was craning her neck to get a look at it. The drawing appeared complete; a nicely shaded work in pencil that showed none of the barracks or fences or guard towers. The setting could have been anywhere, since it was focused on the chair and its occupants. Whether she'd intended to add anything else, Masumi didn't know.

"Do you draw?" Miné asked Cho. "We're going to start an art school here. Professor Obata is organizing it."

"A little. Not that good. Do you think I could draw like that if I took classes at the school?" Cho asked hesitantly, touching the edge of the sketch pad. "My daddy can draw real good like that. I'd like to."

"With a lot of practice you could. When I was your age, I drew all the time. Taking classes helped me draw better." The artist, in her late twenties or early thirties, was kind and encouraging. Another thing Masumi liked was that she talked directly to Cho, instead of over her head to Masumi. Many adults tended to treat children as if they weren't there or weren't capable of rational thought, which annoyed Masumi. Certainly there was a time and a place for children to speak with adults, but they couldn't learn to do it properly if they were never given the opportunity. Miné was giving Cho the opportunity.

"Will you be there?"

"I'm going to be teaching, though I don't know what age group yet, or if it will be in pencil or ink or even painting. We're still getting it set up. And trying to find supplies."

While Cho and Miné chatted and looked at the other drawings in the woman's sketch pad, Masumi studied the two sleeping males. Despite the baby roundness of Tatsuya's face, Masumi began to pick out the things the artist had seen that she hadn't: the shape of eyes and brows, the angle of cheekbones, the line of the jaw, and the potential of a short, button nose to grow longer and straighter and maybe turn up slightly at the end. Sasuke's nose was like that too, wasn't it? It was almost six months since she'd seen him and she couldn't quite remember. And that thought almost made her cry.

"Mama, would I be able to take art lessons?" Cho asked. It was the first time she'd shown interest in anything in the camp.

"I don't see why not. You've always liked to draw."

"We'll put up notices at all the mess halls when we're ready to start."

"That's great. Thank you."

"Here, you should have this." Miné gently tore the sketch out of the pad.

"Oh, no, I couldn't. You worked so hard."

Miné smiled. "I insist. Send it to your husband, if you want. He must be lonely up there."

"That's a good idea; I think I will. Thank you."

Later, during dinner, she watched Kenshin's interaction with the children, but could discover no similarity with the way Sasuke acted. Kenshin was quieter, more guarded, and used different gestures. And trying to be subtle with him never worked; he always seemed to know. Catching her gaze, he lifted his eyebrows, silently inviting her to speak, but she just smiled and shook her head slightly. It must just all be her imagination.

That evening, she wrote to Sasuke:

_Dear Husband,_

_I hope you are doing well. We are all fine here, avoiding most of the illness going on. That's a relief, as you know how cranky Tatsu-chan gets when he's sick, and his normal two-ness is quite enough to deal with right now. I am dealing with swelling ankles, but you know what it's like this close to the end – we've done this before. Tom has constructed a rather clever chair to help keep my feet up and Yuki and the other ladies are handling laundry, which is the worst chore. So mostly I just sit around with my feet propped up and making baby clothes until I have to get up and stand in line for something._

_There is talk of an art school starting, and I hope they get it going soon. It is the only thing Cho seems interested in and she spends a lot of time moping around. Tom tried to get her to join him in a father-daughter baseball team, but you can imagine how well that went over. He only made the first mention of it tonight at dinner, and I suspect she hasn't heard the last of it from him. _

_We got a visit from Todd Swindon today, and that perked her up a bit. All the kids sent her letters. Some of your adult students sent me letters, too, to let me know they are petitioning the government for your release and giving me encouragement. They are the best people! They also sent fruit and cookies, which we are sharing with some of the neighbors. We all share things here, and it turns into a little party every time someone gets something from outside._

_I am enclosing a picture one of our neighbors drew. She is quite talented, as you can see, and she caught "the boys" at a perfect moment. Tom was embarrassed when I showed it to him later. Those two get on pretty well together. Tom carved Tatsu-chan a bear out of wood and now Tatsu-chan pesters him for more bear stories – and I'm sure most of them are made-up, although he says some are Indian legends. He's a good story-teller - you remember. He even gets Cho interested, though she pretends not to be listening. I'm not sure why. And he draws in the other neighboring children, too, rather like a child-magnet. They all gather around him in the evening and he tells stories before bedtime._

_Well, I should go, as I've rattled on for a while and I really need to turn the light off. It's getting late and there aren't too many still on. Tom would probably like to go to bed and I am sitting in the front room of the stall while I do this. He is on the walkway outside, whittling again now that all the children have gone to bed. It will probably be a new animal. Tatsuya is asleep on the cot next to me – the boys have the front room – but a little light doesn't bother him when he finally gives in to sleep, as you know. Please remember that we love you and miss you and are waiting impatiently until we see you again._

_Your loving wife, Masumi_

Before she sealed the envelope, she folded up the picture, a note from Cho, and some scribbles from Tatsuya and sent them all along to him.

--------------------------

They'd gotten into the dinner line near Yuki and her family and had found room to sit down and eat together, although everyone had to be conservative with their elbows. They had stopped the ritual of _itadakimatsu_ shortly after coming to Tanforan. There was no one to thank, and it was hard to be thankful for the food. The quality was still generally poor, the quantity depended on one's timing in reaching the counter, and the menu items rarely what any of them would have willfully chosen. Kenshin kept alive the tradition of asking what was beautiful and what they could be thankful for, and they included the Fukuzaki family whenever they sat near them. This time, when it was Kenshin's turn to name something to be thankful for, he smiled and responded:

"Being part of a family. If I hadn't found you, I'd have been stuck in bachelor quarters with three hundred of my closest strangers."

The response elicited laughter down the table. The bachelors were in a partitioned portion of the main floor beneath the grandstand, but since the partitions didn't go all the way to the ceiling, they were visible from some of the upper level walkways. They dressed, undressed, slept, or otherwise whiled away their time in regimented rows of cots all under the public eye. It wasn't a situation to be envied.

"At least it would smell better," said Hiroki, sitting on Kenshin's right.

"Three hundred men all in the same room? I humbly beg to differ," Yuki said. "I only have to deal with three of you and it's bad enough."

"Especially not with you there, Bro'. You're worse than the horses," Daisuke retorted from across the table. The two boys had the back room of their stall. Kisho and Yuki had taken the front room in order to have more control of their comings and goings. They insisted the boys be in at a certain hour and that they eat dinner with the family, which was more control than many parents had over their teenagers. Both boys obeyed because it had only taken one incident of Yuki coming after them to reinforce the discipline.

"You need to shower more often," Daisuke continued.

"I don't like standing in line…"

"Hey, hey, not appropriate for the dinner table," Kisho broke in calmly. "Try to act a little civilized, okay? We haven't been here long enough for everyone here to think badly of us yet. Let's give them a little more time."

Kenshin had felt the other Immortal enter the building somewhere behind them. They hadn't met face-to-face yet. He sensed hesitation in the other's _ki_ on the rare occasions they'd been near each other and he thought the other man was scoping him out, trying to figure out who and how strong he was before approaching. It rang warning bells in his head. If the other man had any intent to be friendly, he'd have approached openly. But surely, he wouldn't start anything in the crowded mess hall. Kenshin kept his senses open, but appeared relaxed and took part in the conversations crisscrossing the table as they discussed the new art school Mr. Obata was trying to organize, the baseball teams that were forming, and other things that were becoming daily life at Tanforan. He tried again to get Cho to agree to play baseball with him, and the older boys assisted in the cajolery since baseball was their passion, but Cho just shook her head mutely and picked at her stew. It was hard to track exactly where the man was in the press of bodies around and between the closely set tables. He was ready for something; he just wasn't sure what it would be when it hit.

Yuki's boys were discussing with increasing imagination, despite Kisho's admonishment, just what, exactly, the meat in the supposedly beef stew had been in a former life when Kenshin felt a congealed, lukewarm mass of it suddenly slide down his neck, accompanied by the clatter of a tin plate and cutlery hitting the floor and a sudden malicious spike from the _ki_ he'd been trying to track. He hadn't realized it was so close behind him, which showed the man had some skill at masking it. Hiroki was already coming off the bench when Kenshin clamped a hand onto his shoulder and held him down under the pretext of turning to look.

"Oh, so very sorry. Someone bumped my elbow." The voice was accented and the apologetic tone so patently false that Kenshin figured the man needed to go to remedial sincerity lessons.

"No big deal; I needed to shower after dinner anyway," Kenshin said, keeping a grip on Hiroki, who looked ready to explode.

"I am Imao Hosokawa. Not the best way to meet, _neh_?" He smiled, showing crooked, slightly yellow teeth.

"Not really. I'm Tom Niitsu." He would have offered a hand to shake, just for appearances, but one was still occupied in keeping Hiroki in his seat and it was too awkward in this position to offer the other.

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kenshin asked levelly, aware of the people around them.

"Oh, I thought you were Himura."

"That's my half-brother's family." 'And you'd better leave them alone, you bastard,' he added mentally. 'I know what you're doing.'

"Ah. Well, nice to meet you. Sorry again." Hosokawa gave him a slight bow and a cheery wave, and pushed off through the crowd.

"That's a piece of work," Kisho muttered as Kenshin turned back to his companions.

"How could you let him get away with that?" Hiroki exploded as the pressure on his shoulder eased.

"Should I have started a fight, Hiroki?" Kenshin asked mildly. "Here in the middle of the mess hall, with all these people around? They would have gotten hurt."

"But it was rude, what he did. He did it on purpose!"

"Why would he do it on purpose?" Yuki asked reasonably, but her son wasn't listening.

"Perhaps," was Kenshin's reply to the boy. "Should I meet rudeness with violence? Should I hurt children and old people with my anger? Sometimes it's better not to be too fond of one's pride, especially when others can be hurt."

"So you let him dump all over you and let everyone see you shamed."

"Am I? Is it shameful to hold one's temper or to give the benefit of doubt or to protect those weaker than oneself? I have never thought so. Maybe some day you will learn that lesson, too." Kenshin shifted his gaze to the others at the table as he stood up. "If you will excuse me, I'm going to line up for a shower. The stew feels no better than it tastes."

As he left, he could hear Yuki give in to the temptation to discipline her son. He'd felt her temper building as the boy argued with him. But of the other Immortal, he felt nothing. He'd gone to some other part of the camp where neither Immortal awareness nor _ki_ could find him.

----------------------------

Several times in the next week, Masumi checked at the hospital building to see if she could get a room nearby, at least, if not a pass to go to a hospital in San Bruno or San Mateo to have the baby. Each time, the reply was the same: no one went to the hospital unless it were a life and death situation, and there were too many sick people in the track's infirmary to let a pregnant woman take up space until her baby came.

"I just can't believe they expect me to walk a quarter mile or more around that track while I'm in labor," she said wearily in Japanese to Yumi one morning as they enjoyed a cup of tea from Yumi's hot pot. They were sitting on the raised walkway around the stable on chairs Kisho had cobbled together out of lumber scrounged from the barrack building projects around them. Speaking in Japanese kept potentially delicate subjects from reaching childish ears. Tatsuya played on the dirt at the base of the walkway, a fat little netsuke-style deer that Tom had carved for him trundling happily through the weeds with the wooden bear as he pushed them along. Masumi didn't want to think of what else might be there in the dirt. It couldn't be worse than their stall, anyway. Cho sat on the edge of the walkway, her legs idly swinging over the side as she stitched together a couple squares of material. Masumi had decided that as long as she had an interest in sewing, Cho could learn to make a quilt like western pioneer girls did.

"It would certainly make the baby come faster," Yumi said. "Walking is good for that."

"I'd probably have it in the middle of the track. Maybe that's what they're hoping for, so I wouldn't need any time in a bed. Just pop it out halfway there, bring it the rest of the way for a check-up, and go back to my stall. Problem solved."

"The problem would be better solved if they'd let more of the midwives help," Yumi shrugged. "But they won't. Over a hundred qualified midwives in this camp and they only take help from one or two of them. Only American certified doctors and nurses allowed. Feh!" She split the rest of the tea in the pot between their two cups. "They need the help, but they won't allow it. Strange people."

"Good morning, Ladies," Kenshin said, coming up the walkway with his shower bag in his hand and a damp towel hung around his neck. His hair was still spiky with dampness and falling into his eyes, looking redder than usual.

"You were up early this morning," Masumi said in English, smiling.

"Yeah, you didn't have breakfast with us," Cho said, sounding a little hurt.

"Sorry about that. I thought I'd go for a run on the track and get some exercise, and then I had to wait for a shower. You wouldn't have had an appetite for breakfast if I hadn't showered."

"It's oatmeal," Yuki said, making a face. "Hard to work up an appetite for that."

"You're probably too late now, Tom."

"Oh, that's all right, Masumi. I'll just grab a handful of nuts and I think we still have an apple or two left from those that Mr. Swindon brought. I'll be fine." Kenshin spread the towel over the walkway rail to dry and ducked into their stall, emerging a few minutes later with an apple in one hand and trickling nuts into his mouth out of the other.

"Hey," he said, swallowing and nudging Cho with his toe. "The notices about the art school are up. We can go over and register you for something." He turned to Masumi. "It's twenty-five cents for children and fifty for adults. That's pretty reasonable. I can walk over with her."

"Let me get you the quarter, then," Masumi said, setting down her cup and preparing to get up.

"No, don't get up. I'll handle it. You can pay me back later if you want. You know, you should be sitting on the lounge with your feet up."

"Yes, I know, but it's too far from the hot pot and tea is a necessity."

"Excuses, excuses. Come on, Cho. Set that in the stall and let's go."

"Um, I don't want to anymore." Cho was looking determinedly at her needle, as if setting each stitch perfectly was the only thing that mattered.

"Why not?" Masumi asked, surprised. "You were excited about it when Miss Okubo told us about it."

Cho shrugged. "I just don't want to," she said lamely.

Kenshin looked at her for a long moment, head tipped to one side, considering as he bit into his apple. He chewed, swallowed, and said, "Well I'm going to go without you, then."

"You're going to sign up for art class?" Cho asked, finally looking up.

"You bet. I've never had too much chance for formal lessons, although I don't do so bad when it comes to sketching garden plans, and those ink drawings in my living room didn't turn out too bad. Still, there's always room to learn, and I can't grub in the mud every day. We've got so many men working on that garden in the infield now that we're getting in each other's way. We're going to have to make it bigger."

"You did the ink painting on your fireplace? That was really good." Cho looked impressed.

"No, I didn't do that one; one of my teachers did. I did the little ones on the other wall, using a pen, not a brush."

Cho looked at him blankly, obviously not remembering.

"They were above the sword. You probably didn't notice them since you were riveted by it." He tugged teasingly on her ponytail. "So, I'm going to go see if I can learn something else. Or something better."

"Like drawing with a pencil?"

"Maybe." He looked at the apple core in his hand. "Too bad we don't still have horses around. I'll have to find a garbage can. There's probably one on the way. Well, ta-ta, ladies, I'll be back in a bit." He started down the walkway.

"Wait!" Cho exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. "I'll come with you. Mama, can I go with him and sign up for a class?"

"Of course you can. I was hoping you would."

"Wait, Uncle Tom!" She ran into their stall to put her sewing away while the adults shared conspiratorial smiles.

"Ready?" he asked as she dashed out again clattered down the walkway to where he was waiting at the end.

"Yep!"

"All right, then, let's go."

She grabbed his free hand and he waved the apple core at Masumi and Yuki as they set off.

Yuki shook her head. "He can make her do anything, can't he?"

"Pretty close. If he wasn't such a good man, I'd worry, but I don't worry about him with these two. Aside from the occasional spitting hand shake, that is, which is disgusting but not harmful. He treats them like they're his own. And I am very lucky to have him help out through this whole thing, with Sasuke away. I don't know how I would have done it."

"It's good of him to help out when you haven't known him long. He seems like a fine man, although Kisho says he dyes his hair. I guess the men would know, with the way the showers are set up," Yuki said with a wink. "And he has a lot of scars. Of course no one will ask."

"Sasuke said Tom told him he got into a lot of fights as a teenager. That would explain the scars, maybe."

"It would explain the dye, too. Kisho says his hair is much brighter red. That would be reason enough to be picked on and have to fight. Well, he kept Hiroki out of one the other night and talked some sense to him, so maybe he has learned his lesson. And if he can pass any of it on to my younger son, I will be grateful."

"It must have been difficult to grow up with a mixed heritage, especially in America where you get such a mixed message about it. On the one hand America is a melting pot and it should be okay but on the other, there is much segregation and racism. How can a child like that know where they belong? I am happy that he has somehow worked it out and is comfortable with himself."

"But…if he is mixed heritage and his father was Niitsu and his mother went back to Japan to remarry like you said, where does the mix come in?" Yuki asked, brow crinkled as she tried to puzzle it out.

"Umm, grandmother, I think," Masumi said, thinking quickly. "I don't know for sure. All I know is what Sasuke told me and I think that's what it was."

"Well, he's certainly got the best of the mix, hasn't he?" Yuki said, and laughed. "Looks and a steady personality. He'll have the single girls flocking around him in no time. We'll have to pick a good one for him."

_----------------------------_

_Author Notes:_

_Miné Okubo and Chiura Obata were real people. _

_Chiura. Obata was born and trained as a painter in Japan, immigrating to the US to become acquainted with a wider world than what he found in his native country. He called the environment "this great nature" and his reverence for it and connection with it shows in his art. A trip to Yosemite in 1927 produced great inspiration and an incredible body of work. He returned to Japan shortly afterwards to work on a wood block print project that lasted almost a decade. Then he returned to the US and became a professor of art at UC-Berkeley. Shortly after he and his wife Haruko were interned in 1942, he devised the art school as a way to give people something to do. His art schools at Tanforan and Topaz lasted as long as the camps did – even after he left - and offered classes to 600 students in 17 fields. _

_Miné Okubo had earned her Master's degree in fine art and was traveling in Europe on a scholarship when WWII broke out. All her friends encouraged her to go home to America where she "would be safe". Between that and her mother's poor health, she decided to cut the scholarship tour short and come home. Hers was the last boat out of Bordeaux. Her mother passed away shortly after she got home, and she moved away from the rest of the family to join a younger brother in Berkeley. They had to fight to stay together as a family (with family quarters) instead of being considered two bachelors in community quarters during the relocation. Her book, Citizen 13660, details in pictures and spare, elegant words what life in camp was like. She stayed two years, documenting it all. Whether she is a relation to Lord Okubo, who is assassinated under Shishio's order in the Rurouni Kenshin series, I do not know. He was a real person, too, whom Watsuki-sensei incorporated to add realism to his work. Wouldn't that be a heck of a tie-in for this author!_

_On a different note, can anyone out there tell me what it means then a document goes into negative numbers under the "Life" column? I have several that have, but they're still available to be read and there's no explanation that I can find for what that's all about. Information from more knowledgeable minds is sought. Thanks!_

_twp_


	12. Chapter 12

_Nope, don't own nuttin', not making any money; just havin' fun._

Baby Time – June 1942

It was close to four in the morning when Masumi woke Kenshin up.

"I think this is it. I didn't want to wait too long because it's such a long walk, but Baby is showing all the signs that it's coming soon." She turned back to the back part of the stall to get dressed as Kenshin unzipped the sleeping bag, allowing him to slide into his jeans and throw one of his ubiquitous flannel shirts on over his undershirt.

"I'll go get Mrs. Fukuzaki," he said, shoving his feet into his boots and ducking quietly out the door. By the time Masumi had finished dressing, both Yuki and her husband had come to their door.

"Ready?" Kenshin asked as she came out.

"We're ready. That hospital had better have a spot ready for me."

Yuki stayed with the still-sleeping children while Kenshin and Kisho started off across the racetrack, Masumi between them and her bag in Kenshin's hand. Kisho carried a flashlight to light a path through the dark, and every now and then a spotlight would sweep past. Once it stopped on them, blinding in its intensity, but fortunately behind them, so it stretched their shadows far out in front of them. Kisho just waved his flashlight at it and eventually it moved on, the guard obviously deciding they weren't up to trouble. Every once in a while, Masumi would stop and breathe hard in little pants, hanging on to both men's arms. The intervals got closer as they went along.

"Oh, I swear…I'm going to…have…this child…in the middle…of the track," she gasped during a particularly long pause.

"Then you can name him 'Kuchitori'," Kisho joked.

"I am not…naming my child… 'horse boy'," Masumi declared, while Kenshin chuckled.

"If he has his grandfather's hair, you can call him Akai-chan," Kenshin suggested.

"That's what they call you," Kisho said, "because you run on the track like a race horse, and your hair looks red sometimes."

"I know," Kenshin grinned, urging Masumi forward as the contraction seemed to end. "I don't mind being nick-named after Man O' War. He was a great horse."

"Except he was Big Red," Kisho grunted as he took a miss-step on the uneven surface. "You are Little Red."

"And I am a Man O' Peace…and don't call me 'little'," Kenshin retorted, but he was still grinning, like it was a joke only he understood.

'Probably something from his childhood,' Masumi thought, trying to focus on something other than the contractions rippling across her belly, even if it was nonsensical male banter.

"I'd thought to name him after you, Tom, since you've been so much help through all this," she said, mischievously.

"Oh, don't do that. It'll cause all kinds of rumors to start circulating." Kenshin sounded scandalized and just a touch embarrassed, while Kisho laughed. "It should be named after someone in the family. Besides, what if it's a girl? She won't appreciate being called 'Tom'."

"Sasuke and I already decided to call it 'Kaoru', after his grandmother, if it's a girl."

"'Kaoru' is a nice name," Kenshin agreed.

"Except in America, the kids will all call her 'cow', which isn't a name any girl wants to be called," Kisho pointed out. "You could translate it to English."

"'Fragrance'," Masumi translated, sucking in a breath and then panting hard. "I don't think that's a common name in America."

"Definitely worse," Kisho said. "They'll just call her 'stinky'."

"You're a lot of help," Masumi panted.

"Sorry. I know how American kids think; there was a playground just down the road from my house and I heard it all. American kids are smart-mouthed," Kisho said. "The Nisei kids are like that, too, my own included. They learn to be rude at school or on the playground and don't listen to their parents. I had to tell Hiroki again the other day to watch his mouth."

Kenshin chuckled, holding onto Masumi and steadying her as she stopped again. "Hiroki is fourteen; every boy is smart-mouthed at that age. All full of opinions and too dumb to know when to keep his mouth shut."

"Except for you and I, nè?" Kisho grinned.

"Nah, you'd be surprised at some of the stuff I said when I was fourteen. I think 'Kaoru' is a perfectly lovely name, and with her daddy teaching her kendo, she can beat up on anyone who calls her 'cow'."

"Not…that we want…her…getting into fights," Masumi asserted, still panting.

"Masumi, are you going to make it or should we carry you? It's not too much further now."

Masumi looked up and judged the distance. "I can make it…Good thing…all this walking…will make…the baby come…faster."

Kisho blanched. "Just not too fast, okay?"

"Yeah, we'd like you to be inside and in professional hands first," Kenshin agreed.

"Cowards," Masumi said.

"Yep," both men said in unison.

They did make it to the makeshift hospital in time, and Kisho left to return to Yuki. All they had to do was announce "Pregnant lady in labor" to bypass the people waiting miserably to see someone who would hopefully find a remedy for whatever had them awake at that hour. Kenshin sat in the hall on one of the hard wooden chairs that had been set along the wall to serve as a waiting room as Masumi disappeared into one of the rooms that were serving as examining rooms. A round-faced Caucasian woman stopped in front of him and presented him with a clipboard with several forms attached to it and a pen.

"You'll need to fill out your wife's information on this form," she said.

"Ah, she's my brother's wife, actually. I'll fill out what I can, but I may not know everything." Kenshin said, taking the items.

"And where is the husband on this auspicious occasion?"

Kenshin looked her straight in the eyes, not liking her tone at all. "Fort Missoula."

"Hmph. Indeed," she intoned, turning away, clearly not convinced but not inclined to argue with someone she obviously believed her inferior. Kenshin stared after her for a moment and sighed. The range of personalities in the world constantly amazed him. He turned back to the papers and started filling out what he could.

Forty-five minutes and no interruptions later, a different woman approached him from the direction Masumi had gone, her white lab coat fluttering around her as she moved. She was obviously Japanese and comfortably plump, with shiny black hair slicked away from her face into a neat bun and her eyes almost lost in her broad smile. She spoke to him rapidly in Japanese and paused for his reaction.

There were exclamations and smiles from some of the other people waiting, but Kenshin just smiled vaguely and said in English:

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you just said." It was a patent lie, but no one was around who could trip him up, and he had perfected a poker face when people spoke to him in his native tongue. This persona did not speak Japanese.

"Oh, I am sorry. You are Mr. Himura, yes?"

"No, he's in Montana. I'm his half-brother, Tom Niitsu, and I'm looking out for his family for him until he can join us."

"Well, then, you have good news to send him. He has new baby boy, and mother is fine. First one?"

"No, third child; second boy. He'll be thrilled. Can I see them before I send him a telegram?"

"Oh, yes. Mrs. Himura very tired but still awake. Baby was starting to nurse when I left. We go check. Come."

She lead him down the hall and tapped on a door, peeking in at the answer before motioning him through. Masumi was ensconced in blankets and wearing the nightgown and wrapper she'd stuffed into her bag. She was holding the baby, though he was obviously asleep now, and she smiled at him tiredly as he came in.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like a huge weight has just dropped off my belly. Isn't he beautiful?" She pulled away a corner of the blanket to show off a crinkly red face, eyes closed and lips blowing little bubbles. A tuft of fine black hair crowned the little round head.

"Yep, beautiful," Kenshin agreed, smiling unconsciously as he reached out to gently stroke a finger over one round baby cheek. "And no worries about anyone calling him 'cow'."

Masumi laughed softly. "No. I was only teasing about naming him after you. The boy name we picked out months ago was 'Shinta', which was Sasuke's grandfather's first name. He was married to Kaoru. It means 'Gentle Heart', which I think this baby has. He hasn't cried a peep except for that first one that cleared his lungs out."

"Yet. Wait until he figures out what lungs are for." Kenshin glanced at his watch. "Do you need anything? I'm going to go back and relieve Yuki and Kisho. We might be able to get an hour or two of sleep before we have to get in line for breakfast. Do you want Cho to go to art class as usual or do you want me to see if I can bring them here to visit?"

"I don't need anything. I'd say take Cho to class as usual. I don't know how long they'll keep me here or if the children will be allowed in, and I'd like things to stay on the usual routine if possible. There have been enough upsets lately."

"Okay, I'll check about visiting on the way out. Oh, and they might be bringing you some paperwork later. There were a few things on the form I didn't know how to answer."

"Okay. I think we're going to sleep now," Masumi smiled.

"You do that. You've worked hard for this early in the morning. We'll see you later, if we can."

When he started back to their stall, dawn was a pale lemon color in the eastern sky. He walked past the silent grandstands, looming in the near-dark, and was suddenly aware of the other Immortal. Stretching out with his ki, he felt several people. There were maybe a dozen massed high on the grandstands, probably waiting for the sun to rise. He was aware of them every morning when he ran the track. At the bottom, tight in the shadows, Hosokawa was standing, dressed in a dark suit. A glimmer of pale light shone on the blade of the sword held low next to his leg.

"Come play with me, Battousai," he whispered.

"Here? Now? Are you crazy?" Kenshin asked, slowing his approach.

"Why not? No time like the present, they say."

"The present is no time to be doing it. No witnesses, remember? Our fights aren't for public consumption."

"But it would be so entertaining for them, and they really don't have much else to amuse them. Spar with me, if you don't want to fight for real."

"Thanks, no. Not interested. Even if I was, I'd hardly use steel in this place."

"Aw, come on, Battousai. You're hardly living up to your reputation."

"If you knew anything about my reputation, you'd know how I play the Game. It's not the way you obviously want to. If you want to learn how I do it, come back after we're free of the camps. This is neither the time nor the place." Kenshin subdued his impatience. He'd learned a long time ago that impatience could get a guy killed, and he had things to do here that were too important to waste.

"Oh, yes, all that no killing stuff. That might have worked when you were mortal, but it doesn't work for us. We're different; we don't have to play by mortal rules."

"If you believe that, you're dumber than you look."

Hosokawa laughed softly and sheathed his sword. "Well, if all you can do is talk my ear off and insult me, I guess I'll have to come back later. I thought to be open about this, but if you're not going to let me, we'll have to play a different game. See you later." He disappeared into the slowly melting shadows, but Kenshin tracked his ki until it got lost in the increasing activity of the day. And then he noticed another, trying not to be seen, deeper in the shadows where a doorway allowed access to the lower part of the grandstand's interior. Kenshin's eyes riveted on the figure being revealed by the dawn.

"And who are you?" he asked, irritation making his tone more menacing than usual, recalling the Battousai of the past.

"Me? Nobody. I'm nobody," squeaked a non-descript looking man wearing slacks and an open-necked shirt, hat square on his head. He shaded his eyes against the increasing glare, further blocking his face from Kenshin's sight. "I just came out to watch the sunrise but I was running late so I thought I'd come straight underneath so I could watch as I climbed up to the rest." He was babbling, his ki showing a kind of neutrality that kept Kenshin from quite believing him and yet having no reason not to.

"Forget what you heard."

"Oh forgotten, completely forgotten. Don't know what you're talking about, hey? Haven't heard a word, no, not a thing…"

With another piercing look and a huff of breath, Kenshin walked past him, on to the stall where Yuki dozed on his cot, waiting for him to return or the children to wake up.

After breakfast, Kenshin and the children walked to the administration offices so Kenshin could send a telegram to Sasuke. Then they went to art class, with Kenshin and Cho sitting at a table trying to draw the still life objects in front of them: a tin can, a bottle laying on its side, and one of Kenshin's work boots. Tatsuya crawled under the table at their feet, playing with his animals and making them talk to each other in little squeaky voices. A fox had recently joined the bear and deer, and Tatsuya was trying to make the voices different for all of them, which meant he sometimes got a little loud. Kenshin was shushing him for about the tenth time when the instructor, who was not Miné, to Cho's disappointment, stopped by their table. She squatted down to see Tatsuya.

"Hey, are you having fun down there?"

"I'm really sorry he's disrupting things, Miss Mariko" Kenshin apologized. "His mom just had a baby and we're going to go see her after class, so I didn't want to leave him with someone else."

"That's okay; he's not a problem. I just wanted to see his toys. They look like netsuke." The teacher, a pretty girl in her late twenties, smiled up at him.

"Well, sort of," Kenshin said as Tatsuya held up the bear.

"Can I see it?" she asked, and the little boy handed it over readily, surprising Kenshin. Tatsuya didn't usually share the little animals except with Cho.

"That's very nice," she said, admiring the detail. When she handed it back, he gave her the other two, so she could admire them as well. "They are like netsuke, except without the hole in the middle for the strings. Where did he get these?"

"I made them," Kenshin said modestly. "Gives me something to do in the evenings."

"They're really great. You should be in the sculpture class. You know, we're having an art show in two weeks; you should enter them. Even though they're not part of your class work, they don't have to be. We're showcasing all the art everyone does in the camp, not just the people in classes."

"I don't know if he'd let them out of his hands long enough to show them off," Kenshin laughed. "He'd be knocking over the displays to get them back."

"Well think about it. They're definitely worth showing off." She gave the fox and deer back to Tatsuya and stood to look over Cho's shoulder.

Cho sighed heavily. "It's not very good. Uncle Tom's is much better."

Cho's picture was a confusion of heavy pencil lines showing misshapen objects: the bottle tapered too much on one side and not enough on the other, the can looked square instead of round, and the boot…well, the boot was just wrong, somehow. Uncle Tom, on the other hand, had already roughed in the basic shapes and was starting to detail the laces on the boots, which was enough to show Cho how inadequate she was.

Her teacher chuckled softly. "Of course. Your uncle has probably been drawing for years. Anyone who can carve little animals like he does has a good eye for shape and texture. You're just starting out, and up until now, you've probably drawn whatever you wanted however you wanted to do it. Now we are asking you to really look at what you are drawing and duplicate it. That's a lot harder." She turned the paper over, so Cho had a blank page to work with again.

"Start over. Think of the bottle and the can as cylinders; straight sides with a round top and bottom. The tapered part of the bottle is almost as long as the straight part, so you can estimate where the top is and then bring those slanted sides in smoothly. Draw lightly, because you don't want all the lines showing when you're done. The top of the boot is also a cylinder, but the bottom is more like a box and a wedge." Mariko used her hands to show Cho the parts she was talking about. "If you break what you're drawing into basic shapes and then fill out the details later, it makes drawing them easier."

"But see, I can't even get the straight part straight," Cho said, frustrated that her pencil wasn't doing exactly what she wanted.

"That takes practice, Honey. You have to draw every day, even when you're not in class, and pretty soon, you'll be able to get it straight when you want and round when you want."

"Just like kendo, Cho-chan," Kenshin said. "Remember, you didn't do that perfect the first time either, did you?"

"No," Cho sighed again. "I just thought this would be easier."

"It gets easier with practice," Mariko smiled, and patted Cho's shoulder. "You're doing fine."

------------

After class was over, they went to the hospital room to see Masumi and Shinta. Masumi was awake and dressed, sitting on the bed and rocking Shinta gently.

"Mama!" Tatsuya exclaimed and ran to her. "See fox? Unca Tom made fox!"

"Yes, I see. Very nice. See the baby? This is your little brother, Shinta. He's sleeping, so we have to use quiet voices around him. Can you do that?"

Tatsuya nodded. "I can," he whispered.

"He's really cute, Mama," Cho said. "Look at his little nose. How does he breathe through that?"

"He's breathing just fine," Masumi smiled, but it went a little crooked after a moment. "He's not eating very well yet, but maybe he's trying to get used to that idea. And I'm not really producing much for him." She looked at Kenshin, who had remained behind the children. "I'm not sure what to give him if I can't. We haven't seen milk in this camp yet."

"No, we haven't," Kenshin said. "Beats me how they pack so many children in here and not have milk."

"I'm hoping we both get up to speed soon," Masumi said, stroking a gentle finger over the patch of hair on Shinta's head. It sprang up again immediately afterwards and Kenshin laughed.

"It looks like he and Tatsu-chan have the same kind of hair."

"These boys." Masumi ran an indulgent hand over Tatsuya's head, the hair springing up behind it to stick out in all directions again. "They're like a pair of little roosters. You should carve him one of those."

"You make me a wooster, Unca Tom?" Tatsuya asked hopefully, chocolate brown eye big and pleading.

"You already are a rooster, Buddy." Kenshin smiled and ruffled the boy's unruly locks, remembering other brown eyes under a mop of similar hair. He'd never attempted to ruffle that hair. He'd have gotten his arm broken, for one thing, but Sano had never needed his guidance or encouragement. All he'd needed was an example to show him the right direction again. "We'll see if I can find a rooster in a block of wood somewhere. Then your fox can guard the henhouse."

"Visiting time is over." The voice came from one of the sour-faced nurses Kenshin had seen on duty before. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips for just a moment longer, favoring them all with a baleful stare before moving off down the hallway.

"Okay, kids, give Mama a hug," he said. "And be careful of Shinta so you don't wake him. We'll come back and visit again. Any idea when they're going to let you out?"

"It could be as early as tomorrow. There's not enough room here to keep anyone very long. And since the weather has warmed and it's not so cold at night, he should be okay if he sleeps in the cot with me."

"We'll come over and visit again in the morning, and if they let you go, we can all walk back together. I'd better get these two over to the mess hall for lunch. Hopefully there won't be much of a line."

"That's one advantage of being here. I don't have to stand in line to eat," Masumi said. "Not that the food is any better, but at least I don't have to wait on it so long."

-------------

Kenshin and the children didn't have to wait too long for lunch, since they were at the end of the lunch period. That also meant there weren't too many choices left, but they managed to make a meal that was filling, if not particularly inspired. They were walking down the track in front of the grandstand on the way back to their stall when a runner caught up to them.

"Hey, you're Mr. Niitsu, right? You've got visitors." He only stopped long enough to verify he'd gotten the right people and then sped down the track towards one of the barracks.

"Thanks. C'mon, kids, let's see who they are. And where they are; he didn't say."

"Probably at the top of the grandstand again," Cho said. "That's where we met Mr. Swindon."

"All right, let's try that. C'mon, Tatsu-chan, we're going this way."

Getting to the top of the grandstand took some time, since Tatsuya insisted on climbing the stairs on his own. When they reached the visiting room, it was packed full of people. Standing in front of them as they entered the room was the man Kenshin had seen near the grandstand, talking to a graying Caucasian man who stooped slightly to better hear what the other was saying. At least, Kenshin thought it was the same man. He had too few identifying features to be certain. Standing to the left of the door were Fitz and Mrs. Martins. Two large brown bags sat on the floor at their feet, with greenery sticking out of the tops.

"Oh, we're so happy to finally see you," she said, giving the children a hug as Kenshin and Fitz shook hands. "We've made the trip down here twice before already and never got in the gates. They search everything. Where's Mrs. Himura?"

"Down in the hospital section. We welcomed little Shinta Himura into the world this morning,"

"How wonderful!" Mrs. Martins clapped her hands, bouncing a little on her toes. "And how are they?"

"Doing fine. The kids and I stopped in for a visit and lunch, and were on our way back to our barrack when a runner caught up with us and said you were here."

"I have to ask: is Shinta a boy or a girl? I'm afraid I can't tell by the name."

"He's a boy. It's a family name – Sasuke's grandfather."

"Lovely. What does he look like?"

"Ah, like a baby." Kenshin grinned and shrugged while Fitz laughed. "And I'm assuming something like his parents but much younger."

"Oh, you men. You just don't notice the details. I wish I could see them."

"I wish you could, too."

"He's really cute," Cho piped up. "And really, really small. And he's got just a little bit of hair right here." She patted the top of her head right behind her bangs. "It sticks up like Tatsu-chan's. He was sleeping so his eyes were closed and his nose is just a bump. And he's chubby. He looks like he has three chins between his mouth and his neck."

"Babies are supposed to be chubby, dear. He'll lose some of that as he starts to grow. So how are you doing? Are you keeping busy?"

Cho started to tell Mrs. Martins about the art school and Fitz and Kenshin stepped subtly aside.

"As bad as what I'm hearing?" Fitz asked quietly.

"Bad enough. There's another here, and I think he's going to make trouble."

"Doesn't that just figure? Have you got the necessary equipment? I had to leave mine behind and I'm feeling somewhat nekked. I'd heard they check visitors very thoroughly."

"I have it. I also had a toddler running interference for me during the checks," Kenshin said, with a small grin as he ruffled the hair of the little boy standing next to him. "I wasn't counting on it, but it worked very well."

Tatsuya looked up at the feel of a hand in his hair and smiled broadly at Fitz. "Truck, Missa Fitz?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Fitz asked.

Kenshin chuckled. "He wants to know if you have the trucks you were playing with last time."

Fitz crouched down to look the little boy in the eyes. "Sorry, mate, I don't have any trucks today. Those were Master Tank's trucks if I recall. What have you got there?"

Tatsuya held up the deer. "Aminals Unca Tom made. Dis a deer."

"I see that, and quite a clever deer it is."

"Oh, Tom, dear, we brought you some plants for the garden you're building. It was time to thin out the lilies and there are peonies, and some of your irises." Mrs. Martins had exhausted Cho's knowledge of baby and art school.

"My irises?" Kenshin looked at Fitz. "Why did you dig up my irises?"

Fitz looked up from his examination of the bear, handing the deer back to Tatsuya.

"Well I didn't, actually. I'm working down at the corner pub now and came home to your neighbors helping themselves in the dark of night. They said that since the little Jap guy didn't live there anymore, they didn't figure anyone would mind. I told them I did mind and they could drop the plants where they stood, but then I didn't really know if there was some trick to replanting them and it was somewhat late after all, so Mrs. Martins and I just brought them along."

"I hope they survived being bagged and searched," the older woman said, nudging one of the paper grocery sacks with her toe. "We brought some seeds, too."

"I'm sure they'll be welcome. Those old guys are like a bunch of rabid gophers. You've never seen so much digging in your life," Kenshin said affectionately, grinning. "Hey, speaking of bringing things, Fitz, could you dig around in that closet in the den? There's a little red toolbox that has art supplies in it – pens, ink, brushes, stuff like that, and I think a couple pads of various types of paper. I might as well share it here, since it's not doing any good stockpiled there. And if you can find any other sources, I'm sure we could use anything for the school. They're working on a bit of a shoestring, although they've got folks at the art department at the university sending things. They're also talking about a regular school, so the kids don't get behind in their class work. I don't know where they're going to do that or what they need yet, but keep your eye out, and if you know someone who can help, that'd be great."

"Mrs. Brooks probably has good contacts, since she's a teacher," Mrs. Martins said. "I'll see if she knows about supplies, and maybe old textbooks that would still be useful."

"That would be great. And if you could find some baby formula or powdered milk, that would be good, too. Masumi said she's not producing much yet and it would be good to have a back-up plan."

"Right. Milk, art supplies, and school materials. Looks like we've got our marching orders," Fitz said. "We'll try to meet you back here next week, if that's okay? It might take some time to get this together."

"That works for the supplies. If you find some formula or milk powder, that'd be nice to have sooner. You could stop along the side of the road near the back fence, maybe, and toss it over to me. They do have patrols, but most of the guys are pretty understanding. It might be less effort than trying to get through security to get up here."

"All right. A little after noon works for me. Gives me a chance for some shut-eye before I venture forth."

"See you then."

They made their farewells and split up, with Fitz and Mrs. Martins leaving by one door that would take them past all the check stations again and into the parking lot, and Kenshin and the children leaving by another and going down through the grandstand until they came out onto the track. They took the bags of plants directly to the group of men gardening that day and were met with much in the way of appreciation, and then continued on to their stall. Retrieving a piece of broken broomstick, Kenshin made Cho run through her kendo forms in a clear space near the trees while he watched and Tatsuya played nearby. It hadn't been a perfect day, perhaps, but all in all, it hadn't been that bad.


	13. Chapter 13

_Well, all I can say is that this is a true number 13. It has been hard to write and there has been a lot going on in my life outside of it that made it difficult to concentrate on it. It may not be the best chapter I ever posted, and I won't swear not to come back and change things if I realize I forgot something important, but I need to get moving on the rest of this story. So here it is, and if I change anything, I'll be sure to let y'all know so you don't miss something. Please don't forget to review after you read - like all authors, I live to know what you think! ;)_

_As always, I don't own Rurouni Kenshin or Highlander or much of anything else, but I am rather fond of my extended Himura family._

_twp_

Chapter 13 – The Worm in the Apple

Early June, 1942

Sasuke gently worked the stone against the wet concrete floor of the bath house and held it up to the light. This piece looked like a chip off a chocolate bar, and he had slowly worked it into a teardrop shape, wearing the stone away against the concrete until it looked the way he wanted. He'd been working on it for a couple of months now, and was happy with the shape, but it still needed polishing, a slow and tedious process. A dull patch on one side showed a low spot in the surface of the stone, where the concrete wasn't touching it. He turned that side to the floor and rubbed it gently back and forth. Each part of the bath house floor had varying texture in the concrete. It was rough in the areas likely to get wet where traction was needed. Those areas were best for shaping the rock. The transition areas between showers, sinks, and toilets were smoother and better for polishing. He was currently sitting in the middle of the room where the concrete was almost smooth, the best for putting a nice shine on the stone.

His team had bath house cleaning chores today, and since they'd finished, they were taking advantage of the clean floors to work on the agates they had found pushing out of the ground as the winter's snow melted away. Sasuke smiled at the memory. All the men in the camp had seemed to go crazy, picking up the stones, polishing them, and turning them into jewelry or other art objects. The men had laughingly called it 'stone fever' and had laughed even harder when one of the wives had written back from a different camp asking for symptoms of the fever and if her husband was seeking medical care for it.

Sasuke hadn't gotten as into it as some of the other men, but he had found a couple interesting pieces and was working them into pendants for Masumi and Cho. Masumi's was a long, quarter-inch-wide icicle shape that reminded him of a slice of sunset sky, showing the dark earth and then the glorious, flaming horizon in changing shades of orange, gold, and red, and then near the very top, a purple band of encroaching night. His daughter, he thought, would love the chocolate drop look of this one. Finding the unique stones had been a piece of serendipity, since he hadn't really been looking for agates. He'd been stretching after practicing his kata with a piece of broom handle and had looked down, and there they'd been. At least it had saved him from walking around, shoulders hunched and contemplating the ground, like many of the men did. The older ones reminded him of Uncle Yoshi, staring intently downward and then swooping down to leap up with a prize only they truly understood. At least Sasuke understood the allure of the stones. With Uncle Yoshi, it could have been a leaf or a bug or some unnamable piece of detritus that caught his attention and would lead him on a scientific ramble – either verbally or physically – to connect it with the rest of the universe. He was still smiling fondly at the memory of his some-what eccentric uncle when another man entered the bath house and called his name.

"Himura-sensei? You've got a telegram." The speaker was an older man, a little stoop-shouldered and with elegant wings of grey hair fanning back from his temples to mix with the rest of his straight black strands. "I didn't bring it because I didn't know you'd be here. It's up in the mail room."

"Thank you, Ikenaka-san. I'll go up with you and get it when you are ready." Sasuke slipped the stone into his pocket as he stood, and ran his mop over the wet spot on the floor, spreading out the moisture so it could dry faster. Water helped the stone polishing process, but it did make for a bit of a mess. By the time he finished rinsing out the equipment and putting it away, the older man was ready and they walked back up to the post office together, talking about their families. Ikenaka had two grown daughters at Heart Mountain camp and a son in the Navy somewhere in the Pacific.

"We lived near Seattle," he said when they were inside the small room that served as the postal center and his fingertips were walking through his card file to find the H's. "My wife died several years ago, and my son shipped out last year, so when they put me here in December, my daughters were left alone to take care of our berry farm and then selling everything. I never stop worrying about them, but what can we do? You are lucky your brother is there to help your wife. I wish one of my girls was married so they'd have a man to rely on." He finally found the thin slip of yellow paper and handed it across the counter to Sasuke.

The younger man scanned the paper quickly – it didn't take much. He'd discovered in the last several months that Tom wasn't much of a letter-writer. Even when the government paid for the telegrams, he didn't waste words. All the telegram said, besides his name and address, was:

**CONGRATULATIONS, DAD. SHINTA BORN 5:28 THIS MORNING.**

**TOM**

He looked up at the postmaster, eyes shining, to find the man smiling back at him. Of course Ikenaka would know what it said, since he received it.

"Thank you! I am a father again. I have another son."

"Yes. Congratulations. I hope you can see him soon."

Sasuke couldn't quite remember how he left the post office, only that he was suddenly full of more energy than he'd had in months. He tore down the alley between the buildings, skidding around corners and generally heading towards his barrack. He startled the Italian cook who had stepped outside of his kitchen for a breath of cooler air.

The Italians had been in the camp longer than the Japanese, but the two nationalities didn't mix much. The cultural and language barriers were too much for most of them. Sasuke liked the cook, though. He always came in to the kitchen early to start cooking while the Japanese crew was cleaning up, and Sasuke had been interested in the traditional foods and enticing smells. He was genuinely interested in other cultures throughout the world and thought the best thing about America was that it mixed so many. He also liked the way the man spoke English, adding vowels after consonants like many Japanese did but somehow sounding much more musical. Italian, he concluded, wasn't spoken as much as it was sung.

"Yatta!" he crowed, waving the telegram.

"Hey, you maka all kindsa noisa. Whatsa matta?"

"I'm a father again, Carlo! Brand new baby boy!" He turned in a circle, running backwards to answer.

"Oh? _Bambino, si?_ You a lucky mana." The big cook's smile was as broad as his belly.

"You bet!" He waved and turned around, continuing towards his barrack. The guys had all been betting on when the baby would come; he wondered who was going to win the pot. He, of course, hadn't been allowed to bet, so he was holding the money for everyone, and the schedule of who had picked which day. Masumi, he thought, would be scandalized if she knew, but that's why she wasn't going to find out. They all took whatever they could get in the form of amusement and after six months, original things were becoming few and far between.

xxxxxx

Two days after his birth, Masumi brought Shinta home to their stall. Kenshin and Cho, who had stopped by for a visit after class, acted as escort. As they rounded the corner of the building, Cho ran ahead, calling for Mrs. Fukuzaki.

"We're over here, Cho-chan!" Yuki called from her seat under the trees. She and several other women were collectively watching a handful of small children, Tatsuya included.

Cho changed direction, ponytail flying like a banner behind her.

"They're home! Mama's brought Shinta-chan home!"

Masumi good-naturedly joined the group so they could admire the baby, gratefully accepting a seat on her lounge chair so she could put her feet up. She still felt a bit like a cow, and the walk from the administration and hospital area seemed to get longer every time. She was happy to let the other women coo over and hold Shinta, and he took it all easily, blinking, yawning, blowing bubbles, and in general doing all the things that had made women coo over babies for time out of mind. At one point, with Shinta on the other side of the circle, Yuki settled on the end of the lounge near Masumi's feet.

"He's taking this very well," she said.

"Yes, I think he's well-named. Hasn't cried very much at all."

"But you're worried about something."

"Well, not really."

"Yes you are. You've got that crinkle between your brows. It's going to give you a big crease some day that you'll never get rid of. What's wrong?"

Masumi sighed. It was virtually impossible to hide anything from Yuki, and she should have known it by now.

"He's not eating very well. I mean, he tries. He's hungry. But if he gets too much at once, he just throws up. And I don't seem to be producing as well as I did for the other two, so I'm not sure he's even getting anything when he tries."

"Did you say something at the hospital?"

"Yes. The nurses are next to useless, I swear. The midwife is very nice, but I haven't been seeing much of her. There are several other pregnant women here, you know. And I haven't seen the doctor at all. All I get from the nurses are platitudes, like 'sometimes it takes a bit of time for these things to develop'. I nursed two other babies, so one would think I know how my body responds to this."

"But you've been under a lot of stress this time, and the food here is bad, not like you got at home. Maybe your milk is taking a little more time to develop."

"I guess. Tom said he asked Mr. Fitzcairn to bring some by, if he can, and maybe find some powdered formula to give us more flexibility."

"If your Mr. Fitzcairn brings milk, it'll be the first I've seen here. How will you keep it cold?"

"I don't plan to. Just give Shinta as much as he'll take and split the rest between Cho and Tatsuya. That's why I think formula is better, although certainly the other two will benefit from milk. I've been hoping we won't be here long enough, or we'll start seeing milk on the menu, that it won't effect their teeth or bones. Oh, I just want to go home. I don't care if it's the apartment above the store, the house in Berkeley, or someplace new, I just want to be in my own home and able to do whatever needs to be done."

Yuki laughed. "Honey, you've got about six thousands friends here who are all wanting the same thing."

xxxxxx

The next day after lunch, Kenshin and the children played near the back fence while Masumi and Shinta napped. They were tossing Tatsuya's little red rubber ball between them, and Kenshin was trying to show them how to throw and catch like it was a baseball without actually using the word 'baseball'. Doing so would make Cho instantly lose interest. So he threw rather wildly to get them to chase, get under, and run up on it and assigned points based on how quickly they fielded it and whenever they stopped it from getting past them. His score, of course, depended on his ability to compensate for what they threw back at him and while Tatsuya was honestly clumsy, Cho was actively trying to get the ball past him. He was still leading in points and covered in dirt and grass stains when he felt the presence of another Immortal just seconds after he picked up Fitz's ki. Together, he and the children headed to the fence, finding a place between the other people who lined it, talking to friends and coworkers from the outside.

Fitz had double-parked next to someone else along the side of the road, putting him dangerously close to the edge of the pavement and the cars zooming past, but with his usual British aplomb, didn't seem to notice or care. He strolled up to the fence, fishing in the pocket of his tweed jacket and pulling out a pint-sized bottle of milk.

"Hello," he drawled. "Thought you might like a bit of moo-juice here."

"Moo juice?" Cho giggled. "Mr. Fitz, you're weird."

"Ah! Wounded to the core already," he gasped, clasping at his chest with his free hand.

"And sooo melodramatic," Kenshin said, rolling his eyes. "You should be on the radio."

"Wrong coast." Fitz looked at the bottle, then the chain-link fence. "Not sure if this is going to fit through."

After several attempts, they were still stymied. The links were too stout to bend under muscle pressure alone, even though some of their fence-visiting neighbors offered advice and help.

"We need tools," Kenshin concluded.

"I'll bring pliers next time," Fitz said, wagging his eyebrows.

"How about wire cutters?" someone on the inside suggested, and they all laughed.

"Love to, old chap, but it might get me in a spot of trouble and the idea here is to get milk to the baby, not jail time for the limey. Well, then, here goes." He stepped back a couple paces and before Kenshin had quite figured out what he was going to do, wound up and lobbed the bottle over the twelve foot fence.

"_Shima_…" Kenshin bit off the expletive and backed up, catching the bottle and letting his arms give to keep from breaking it. "Fitz! Glass!"

"Ha! Used to bowl for the Dunham County Cricket Club way back when, and I must say, I haven't lost my touch."

Another voice drowned out the congratulations on Kenshin's catch.

"Hey, you, there! What did you throw over the fence?" One of the young soldiers who patrolled the fence was approaching from Fitz's right.

"Just a bottle of milk, my good man," Fitz said jovially.

"What?" It was clearly not the answer the soldier expected.

"Milk, for the baby," Kenshin said, holding up the bottle and shaking it, to show that it was indeed liquid and nothing clanked in it.

"For my baby brother," Cho added, pressing close to the fence, her fingers gripping the wire above her head.

The soldier, no more than twenty-five, looked into big blue eyes and was lost. He could have been hard-nosed for two adult males who should have known better, but those guileless blue eyes snared him and wouldn't let him go.

"Oh, well, uh, okay. But try to go through channels, huh? You should bring it through the visitors' room."

"If I did that, it would be cheese by the time it got to them," Fitz said wryly. "Look, we'll try not to be so obvious, but the babe has to get milk to sort of, uh, supplement, if you know what I mean."

"Please?" Cho asked.

"Uh, okay. But that's only for my shift. The guy who's here when I'm not may say different."

All the people around them, on both sides of the fence, murmured with approval.

"Yeah."

"All right."

"Hey, thanks, man."

"Thanks." Kenshin said.

"Right. Appreciate that, Private…Howard" Fitz said, squinting at the name plate on the man's chest and offering his hand. The soldier hesitated, obviously unsure if this was permissible, and then finally shook.

"K-Tommy, I've got to go. Mrs. Martins and I are meeting with Mrs. Brooks and the administration after school to see what they can do to help with school things for you."

"Great. Thanks, Fitz. Give them our regards."

The Englishman, already heading for the car, waved over his head to show he'd heard, but when Cho's voice rose over the rest yelling: "Thank you, Mr. Fitz!", he turned around and blew her a kiss.

They heard the squeal of his tires as he peeled out too quickly match the speed of the traffic coming up on him, and Kenshin shook his head. With tires already being rationed, Fitz was going to be mightily sorry if he wore those ones out too quickly.

Back at the stall, Masumi was awake, with half her blouse hanging down her side, talking softly to Shinta as he suckled. He was pulling hard and seemed a little frustrated, giving her the impression there wasn't much there, but he'd already drained the other side, too. Then he stopped and hiccupped, and Masumi lifted him to her shoulder, patting his back lightly. He didn't make much noise, but she felt his body jerk a little and knew he'd burped. When she brought him back down, milk was dribbling down his chin.

"Spit up again, huh?" she asked softly, taking a spare cloth and wiping his face. "You're doing that a lot, you know.You're supposed to keep that down inside you. I'm telling you because you're a little new at this."

"Masumi? Are you decent?" It was Tom's voice, from outside the stall.

"Always decent, but not dressed," she replied, reaching for a towel to drape over her shoulder and Shinta's head.

"Here, Cho, you take this in to your mother. Tatsu-chan and I are going to sit under the trees until we're needed."

"Okay. Mr. Fitz brought us milk, Mama. Is it okay if I come in?"

"Of course you can."

Cho pulled open the lower door into the back half of the stall and slipped into the dim, cool interior.

"That's very timely," Masumi said, taking the offered bottle with her free hand. "Can you get me one of the little bottles?"

Cho nodded, opening the door of the nightstand Kisho had made and taking out one of the small baby bottles Masumi had brought from home.

"Okay, sit up here and I'll let you hold him while I put this together. Will that be all right?"

Cho hitched herself up onto the cot quickly. She'd been dying for another chance to hold her brother. She liked his warm, soft weight and his milky, baby powder smell. She held her arms just the way Masumi had showed her the first time and let her mother settle the baby just right and gazed down into his dark eyes.

"Can he see me, Mama?"

"Not really. He knows there's a face there above him, but not who it belongs to." Masumi was efficiently transferring a couple ounces to the baby bottle and screwing the lid on, sprinkling a little milk across her wrist to check the temperature. It was already lukewarm.

'At least he won't colic,' she thought. 'The only things that are ever cold around here are the morning air and the wash water.'

"Here you go," she said to Cho. "Hold the bottle like this."

She straightened her clothing as Shinta sucked greedily at the bottle. After a couple minutes, however, he stopped and hiccupped, milk leaking from his lips.

"He's barfing again, Mama," Cho said.

"Vomiting, Cho, or at the very least, throwing up. Where do you get words like 'barfing'?" She lifted Shinta from Cho's arms and rested him against her shoulder, patting his back gently.

"Um…the other kids. Everybody says it."

"Hn, Kisho is right; American kids are rude. I would prefer that you not use it. It sounds vulgar."

"Okay," Cho said, subdued.

Masumi patted her shoulder. "It's okay; you didn't know. Why don't we go outside? I don't think this is a healthy place for a baby, and since we have the bottle, we don't have to stay in. Take the milk bottle and yours and Tatsuya's cups and you can split the rest of the milk."

When they came into the trees, Kenshin folded his knife, slipping it and another partly-formed wooden animal into his pocket, and then jumped up from the lounge, brushing away wood shavings. He surprised Masumi by taking Shinta from her and letting her get settled on the lounge, and seemed reluctant to hand him back. He also seemed remarkably able at shifting a baby about, unlike many single men she'd observed. Before she could ask, though, he had given Shinta back and was tugging Cho's ponytail.

"Hey, get your broom handle; you need to practice today."

"I'm drinking milk," she said, burying her face in her cup. Next to her, Tatsuya was lustily slurping at his share.

"Drink fast. You haven't practiced since Shinta-chan came home. You need to keep up on this."

"I don't know why," she muttered into the cup, taking little sips to make it last longer.

"So you're not an embarrassment to your family and you don't lose what little skill you have. You're going to get lazy if all you do is sit all the time."

"I don't sit all the time. I walk to art class and I play ball with Tatsu-chan…"

"And you wouldn't be doing either if I didn't poke at you," Kenshin said knowingly. "So I'm poking again. Finish your milk and get your broomstick."

"But what if Mama needs…"

"Mama is perfectly capable of handling most things herself, and Tatsuya can help me if I need it. He's getting to be a big boy now." Masumi smiled indulgently at her older son and ruffled his hair, and then turned a sterner gaze on Cho. "You are a big help to me, Cho, but I would like to see you practice kendo more frequently so you can remember your father's teaching. You don't think your great-grandmother Kaoru stopped practicing just because her father wasn't around to push her, do you?"

"No," Cho said in a tiny voice and gulped down the rest of her milk. Great-grandmother Kaoru had kept their style alive. What if she had to do the same thing? What if her dad never came back from Montana and she had to go to Japan to train and she was so bad they were all embarrassed and sent her home? Eyes swimming with unshed tears, she set down her cup and ran for the stall to get her broomstick.

"Oh, dear," Masumi murmured. "That wasn't the reaction I was trying for. She's always been so inspired by her great-grandmother. I thought she'd perk up and imagine herself the next savoir of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu, like she usually does. I can't seem to get it right with her today."

"Kaoru wasn't nine years old and recently uprooted when her father died," Kenshin said, forgetting himself for just a moment and speaking more familiarly than he should have. When Masumi turned questioning eyes on him, he hastily amended: "At least, that's the way I understand it. Didn't Sasuke say she was seventeen when she started teaching and kept the family dojo going? Maybe the fact that he's not here is uncomfortably close to being dead and being the savior of the sword style isn't so romantic if it means losing her dad."

"Maybe." Masumi shifted a burping Shinta back onto her shoulder and patted circles on his back absently. She could feel the spit-up milk soaking through the spare diaper and knew she'd have to change her blouse again. "I'm not sure what she's thinking anymore. She's as helpful as ever, but she's so much quieter now. She used to just chatter all the time and fly in all directions at once."

"Trying to figure out the boundaries again," Kenshin said as Cho came clattering down the walkway, stick in hand. "Trying to see where she fits in now that everything has changed. We're all doing that. It's pretty scary."

"Yes, it is."

Cho's face, when she came back up to them, held no hint of tears. She'd dashed them away or controlled them, and now it was only determination shining from bright sapphire eyes.

Kenshin smiled in approval. "Ready now?"

"Yes, sir!" She leaned over the arm of the lounge and pecked her mother on the cheek. "Bye, Mama!"

"We're only going over there," Kenshin chuckled, pointing to a clear space near the end of the stable. "It's not like she isn't within shouting distance."

"I just wanted to say it." Cho started skipping in the direction he'd pointed.

Kenshin looked at Masumi and rolled his eyes. "Changeable as the weather…" he said, and followed.

He ran her through all the forms she knew and began on basic drills, wishing he could legitimately teach her more. She was so ready to learn new things, and it was hard to keep the old ones fresh. He was aware of other people passing by or stopping to watch, but kept both his attention and Cho's focused on the work at hand. No one approached him until he gave Cho the command to turn around so they could repeat the blocks she was doing while moving forward in the other direction.

"Are you a kendo master, too, Mr. Niitsu? Like Cho's dad?" Daisuke asked, walking up to where Kenshin could see him and yet keep Cho in view also. Hiroki was one step behind him.

"No," Kenshin smiled. "I'm just running Cho through what she knows so she doesn't forget. I can't teach her anything new."

"We used to go to class with them when they lived in San Francisco. We had to stop when they moved because we didn't have anyone to take us to the ferry to ride over, or get us up to the Y from the dock. We could have taken the cable car up to the school and walked from there." Daisuke sounded wistful, and a little injured that his parents hadn't let them make the trip alone.

"You're welcome to join in and do what you know. You'll have to tell me what it's supposed to look like, if you want a critique. And you'll have to get your own sticks. My job is to make sure you're working hard and no one gets hurt."

"Can we spar?" Hiroki asked, eyes lighting up.

"Nope. Can't do that unless there's a…what's the word, Cho?"

"A _dan_," she replied. "'No sparring without a _dan_ present for instruction and control.' That's the rule."

Kenshin hid his grin under the pretext of lifting his battered Seals baseball cap and wiping his brow with his shirt sleeve. That bossiness in her tone was certainly an inherited trait.

"What she said," he agreed, and resettled the cap. "We do basic movements and forms. That's about all we can do without a _dan_ here."

Hiroki looked disappointed, but Daisuke said, "That's okay. It's better than nothing. How about we look for a couple sticks and join you next time? Will you be doing this tomorrow?"

"Every day, two o'clock, unless and until they get a school set up. Then we'll have to modify our schedule to fit."

"Great. C'mon, Hiro. I'll bet we can find something near the gardeners. They've been breaking a lot of handles lately." Daisuke grinned. "Not all of those guys know how to use tools like you do, Mr. Niitsu."

"Yeah, I noticed that. I've been doing more tool repair than gardening lately."

"Maybe you can teach me that? That would be useful to know."

"That it is. After art class tomorrow, then. I'll meet you at the tool shed at about ten o'clock." Kenshin waved them off and turned back to Cho, who was idly swinging her broom handle, waiting for his attention.

"Did I tell you you could relax?" he asked mildly, and she gave him a surprised look before jumping back into her last position. He managed to squeeze his grin into a semblance of sternness. "What number was I on?"

"One, Sir!" was her prompt answer.

Kenshin began counting again at one.

xxxxxx

"Daisuke, you are such a brown-noser," Hiroki said as they jogged towards the center of the track.

"What?"

"'Oh, Mr. Niitsu, we used to do that. Could we join the class? Gosh, could you teach me to mend tools?'" Hiroki's voice was taunting as he mimicked his brother in gushing tones.

"I didn't ask to join, necessarily; he invited us. And I am interested, both in practicing kendo and learning to mend tools. I'm thinking about going into landscaping when I graduate. That's why I'm taking that drawing course. I don't want to be stuck in a shop all day like Mom and Dad. I like working with flowers and plants and stuff, but I don't want to cut them and have them die in somebody's house. I'd rather be outside with them."

"You don't gush around the other gardeners."

"I don't gush at all, you wiener." Daisuke aimed a swat at his brother, who avoided it with the aid of much practice. "I just ask questions and learn, instead of blabbing all the time and causing trouble. You were the one who asked to spar."

The two of them stopped at the shed on the end of the grandstand where the tools were kept. The doors were open since a gang of men were working in the infield, turning up new ground at one end of the garden and digging deeply for a pond near the middle. The broken tools were propped neatly in one corner, out of the way until someone could fix them. Daisuke started pulling them out, sorting through the defects and picking out ones that might make good practice swords. Rake and hoe handles were the best, because of their shape and weight, and there were certainly plenty of damaged ones.

"Not that one," Daisuke said, as Hiroki pulled out one that was broken near the head of the hoe. "They might be able to shave it down and re-use it."

"It's got to be long enough. Those ones you're pulling out won't be, once you cut off the splintered end."

"We're not sparring with them, so it doesn't matter how long they are. It's just for hand position and angle. We can't take something they might be able to re-use because Mr. Nakamura said they have trouble replacing the broken stuff."

"No wonder all those old guys have bent backs, then," Hiroki muttered. "Their handles are all too short."

Daisuke rolled his eyes. "Drag out that sawhorse, there. We'll need something to brace these on as we cut them."

They'd finished cutting the first broken handle, getting a little over three feet of usable wood and were working on the second when they became aware of Hosokawa watching them silently from the front corner of the grandstand.

"We're going to have to round off these cut edges," Daisuke said, determined to ignore the man. "Or they're really going to hurt if our hands slip. Is there any sandpaper or files in there?"

They looked for either as they put the tools and sawhorses away, but there was no sign of files or sandpaper in the shed.

"I'll bet Dad still has some sandpaper from when he made those tables for Mom and Mrs. Himura," Hiroki said. "Or we could wrap them with bat tape." He knew he could con some off the baseball coach they'd met with earlier in the day as teams were being organized and outfitted. The man looked to be an easy pushover.

"So are you boys going to play with sticks like they're swords?" Hosokawa asked. His voice had a quality that was both ingratiating and insulting at the same time.

"We took kendo lessons before we came here and we're going to practice," Daisuke said stiffly. It would be rude not to answer a direct question.

"Kendo, feh. That's not real swordsmanship. It's just weak child's play."

"Works for us."

"I'll bet your Mr. Niitsu could teach you real swordsmanship."

"If he could, we might use it on you," Hiroki said, facing the man squarely.

"Mr. Niitsu doesn't teach kendo, he said so. He's just supervising Cho. And us, too, now. And we are _not_ fighting anyone." Daisuke passed between them, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and towing him along. "Remember? We are not getting into any fights."

"That guy pisses me off," Hiroki said, glaring over his shoulder. Hosokawa was smirking but making no attempt to follow them.

Daisuke cuffed him. "Watch your mouth or Mom's going to shove a bar of soap in it. Then you'll have to stand in line for half an hour tasting it before you can get near a sink to rinse it out."

"I just want to know what his deal is. He's such a jerk. Henry says he's L.A. yakuza."

"How would Henry know?"

"He's got cousins in L.A.. Well, he did. They're all in Manzanar now. But he says he saw yakuza guys when he was visiting down there last summer and they all act like old Yellow-teeth there."

"Then why is he here?" Daisuke asked reasonably. "Everyone here is Bay Area, not L.A.."

"Recruiting. And trying to make one big gang out of both cities so they can control everything in California."

"Yeah, well, the army screwed that up, didn't they? Stuck us all in camps and now nobody is running anything. I knew there had to be something good to come out of this."

"Not on the outside, and not connecting with Japan anymore, but that doesn't mean they can't control things in here."

"You are so paranoid."

"And you've got blinders on, just like Mom and Dad," Hiroki retorted. "Those guys are out there, and he's one of them. Not everyone is nicey-nice just 'cause we're all Japanese."

"Mom and Dad chose not to live in a world where they worry about those things. So do I. And if they try to get up to much here, we've got the guards in the towers and the soldiers around the fence. And despite what the administration says about them being there for our protection, they're facing in, not out. Hosokawa and his buddies won't make too much trouble. Not if they're smart."

xxxxxx

In the next week, the Fukuzaki boys weren't the only one who started practicing with Cho. Former students, both children and adults, approached Kenshin with sticks in hand, to humbly ask permission to join. He didn't have the heart to turn them down. Each was looking for some way to keep busy or block out the reality of life in camp or find some sense of normalcy. When the group got too large to fit between Barrack 16 and the new one being built next door, Kenshin moved them out onto the track. The end near his barrack wasn't being built on yet, although the other end was slowly being consumed by hastily built barracks, washrooms, and latrines. Many of the new members were Sasuke's students. Even former students, some of whom had dropped out of formal classes for reasons of work, time, or family, had asked to join in. With nothing else to do, returning to kendo was a boon, and they were welcomed by the more recent students. Others who joined the group had belonged to other schools and willingly followed the Kamiya Kasshin students just for the opportunity to practice something. Every day for an hour, they drilled up and down the section of track, and after every session, each came up in an orderly line to thank Kenshin for his leadership.

"You know," Kenshin said one day after practice to Sasuke's two highest-ranked students, "one of you guys should really be running this. You're students and I'm just…" He spread his hands like he was lost for words. He certainly couldn't tell them the truth; that he was perfectly capable of teaching them because of all the years he'd spent watching Kaoru and Yahiko, assisting when Kaoru was pregnant, or that he was a swordsman in his own right with a dozen or more styles at his disposal. Of course, most of them were killing styles and there was no way he'd teach that. "You know, I only started this to keep Cho practicing."

"Yeah, but you make us work hard and that's what we need. See, I'd look at those kids and see them all sweaty and tired-eyed and I'd let them stop, but you work them just that bit more that makes them better," Yamaguchi said.

"And you do the same to us," Sato chuckled. "And that makes us better, too. We can't teach yet anyway, since we're not dan. Sometimes being a good leader is more about motivating than teaching. You may not be able to teach, but that's not what we're here for. You motivate us and that's priceless. Sensei has that, too. I don't know what it is."

"It's that air of expectation. Like you both know we can do more or do better, so we do. Whatever it is, keep it up, 'cause it works." Yamaguchi grinned and clapped Kenshin on the shoulder, then motioned at his son to follow him away from the practice ground. Sato chuckled as he, too, departed.

"See you tomorrow, Coach."

Kenshin sighed. It certainly wasn't what he'd intended to become.

xxxxxx

_Vocabulary (there isn't much)_

_Bambino - (Italian) - baby boy_

_Si - (Italian) - yes_

_Dan - (Japanese) - a rank that would equal black belt, but as I understand it, kendo doesn't do color belts like many of the other martial arts. First dan means you've accomplished the basics and now your training really begins. You climb in numbers from there, and however many levels there are depends on your style. If I'm wrong, someone please correct me._


	14. Chapter 14

_Still don't own Kenshin or Highlander. I keep waiting for some kind of transfer to come through, but it never happens. Oh well._

Chapter 14 – A Death In The Family

"Well, Mr. Niitsu, that's…um…interesting…" Miss Mariko's voice sounded a little choked. "Not exactly your model."

Kenshin looked up from his sketch and grinned. "Oh, I did her on the other side," he said, flipping the paper over and showing a nice drawing of the girl perched on the stool in the middle of the ring of students. Although Mariko studied it closely, there was really nothing to critique there. Tom Niitsu was a pretty good pencil artist and truly there to encourage the little girl at his side, bent over her drawing so that Mariko couldn't see it. The teacher motioned with her hand for him to flip over the paper again.

"So you're doing this from out of the air?"

"Sort of. The guy is just a guy I used to see around and his costume is something I've seen in books," Kenshin said. Well, that was true, sort of. He had seen that clothing depicted in books as well as real life, and in some circles, that guy had been just a guy. Scary guy, to be sure, but just a guy. In other circles, where people were more discerning, he'd been a Wolf.

The drawing showed a frontal view of a tall, lanky man with a thin face and straight, spiky bangs that fell into narrowed, intense eyes. The rest of his long hair was caught up into high, flowing top knot typical of the last days of the samurai. His dress, too, was typical of samurai. His wide-legged _hakama_ showed a deep, balanced stance. The feet were only lightly sketched in, showing _tabi_ and _zori_, the toes appearing to grip the ground, but weren't yet defined. Obviously Tom hadn't returned to that area to detail them yet. The _gi_ top was covered by a _haori_ that was shaded to show it had some color and the ends of the sleeves had un-shaded triangles pointing towards the elbows in a pattern known as "mountain stripes". A cord looped across his chest and over his shoulders, able to hold his sleeves out of the way and supporting the handle of the _tanto_ tucked under the ties of the _hakama _and sharing space with a_ wakizashi_. Both arms were raised, the left holding a sword with the hand back near his ear, the blade of the weapon parallel to the ground with the cutting edge facing up. The right elbow was bent with the fist in front of the lower part of the man's face.

"So his thumb really is in his mouth?" Mariko asked, barely stifling a giggle. Except for that, the man looked pretty menacing. With it…

"I'm trying to show Tatsu-chan how silly a samurai looks when he's sucking his thumb," Kenshin explained, grinning. How the Wolf would just die. "The kid adores samurai stories, but we can't seem to keep his thumb out of his mouth. I thought it might be incentive."

"That might do it. Hey, I stopped by to see how you were doing on today's project and also to remind you to pick some things for the art show. I'd like you to put a couple drawings in, but I'd really like to see your netsuke figures in there. See if you can convince your nephew to show them off, okay?"

"I'll see what I can do, but I won't promise anything. Tatsu-chan can be pretty hard-headed. I hear he gets it from a grandpa."

Mariko laughed. "Okay. Cho, how are you coming along?"

Cho straightened up. "Not very good. It's all lumpy," she said, critically, looking down at her drawing.

"Okay. I can see you were trying to draw her outline, and that's hard to get right when you're a beginner. Remember us drawing the balls and bottles and such? You have to think of her body as a collection of those simple shapes. Balls at the joints, like shoulders, elbows, and knees and for her head. Cylinders for arms and legs, wedges for hands and feet, boxes for her torso and hips. Once you get those basic shapes down, you can modify them for how this particular girl looks and smooth out the connections in between." Mariko borrowed Cho's pencil to do a quick sketch to fit her words, showing Cho how to use the basic shapes to get the girl's body position roughed out. "Don't worry about doing it dark or getting the shapes absolutely perfect, you just want the basic idea. This take a lot of practice, but it's worth taking the time. I also want you to pick out some of your drawings for the art show, whatever you like best. We'll be getting that set up this Friday so we can do the show over the weekend, okay?"

"Okay." Cho eyed her drawing dubiously. "I don't know if I'll have anything."

Mariko laughed and patted her on the head. "Honey, no one expects masterpieces out of any of you. They just want to see what you're doing. I think you've been improving and I'd like you to show that off."

xxxxxx

Kenshin did the best he could to hustle a dawdling Tatsuya through lunch. Masumi had left Shinta with them and gone to the clinic to see about milk supplements. While Fitz was bringing a bottle of milk every day, she felt bad about imposing on him. He hadn't been successful in finding baby formula, although Kenshin thought that it was more from not looking than there not being any. From their hurried conversations through the fence, Kenshin gathered that Fitz had become very active in several projects concerning the internees, from school programs and supplies for the children to supporting the rights of the Japanese Americans to return to their homes. Since Fitz wasn't particularly known for his political activism, Kenshin suspected that Mrs. Martins and the other ladies were behind it. Several of them had come, or tried to come, to the visitors' room on weekends to bring treats, news, and offer whatever help they could. Sometimes they made it through and a runner would come from administration to let them know they had a visitor. Most times, all they could do was leave a note that they had tried but the line through security was too long. On this day, Fitz was waiting at the fence when they arrived.

"Well, now I see what was keeping you," he said. "Is that the little mite?"

"This is the guy you're feeding. Or attempting to, anyway." Kenshin turned his shoulder so Fitz could see Shinta's face. The baby blinked owlishly as Fitz baby-talked, made burbling noises, and wagged his fingers through the chain link. After several minutes, Kenshin was laughing.

"You are an absolute embarrassment to cold-blooded Englishmen everywhere, you know that, right?"

"Of course, but it's never been English_men_ whose opinion I care about. The ladies, on the other hand, are suckers for a man who appreciates babies. Speaking of ladies, I need to pass this off to you and get on with meeting them. Not, of course in the context I would wish, but… I want you to know that that cluster of women that you worked for and were neighbors with are some of the most relentless beings on God's green earth. There are committees for education, health, safety, welfare, reversing the internment, natter, natter, natter all day long and I must be there to assist in bringing their concerns to this council or that governing body because having a man involved always lends credence and…"

"Fitz?"

"What?"

"You're starting to foam at the mouth," Kenshin said, eyes twinkling. "They really are keeping you busy."

"I should say. And don't think it does me any good to know you are sitting here on your arse doing nothing all day while I work on your behalf."

"Oh, I don't sit around doing nothing. I draw, garden, fix tools, direct kendo practice…"

"Hmph."

"And stand in line for every blessed bodily function I need to carry out. I swear, you can't stop to think around here or a line forms behind you."

At that, Fitz began to laugh. "All right, I guess I don't really have it that bad. Look, I've got another committee meeting shortly, so I need to keep moving. Here's your milk." He passed the bottle through the bent links in the fence.

"We really appreciate this, Fitz. Masumi's gone to see if there's any chance of getting formula through the hospital, but I think she's going to turn up empty handed again. They don't seem very organized, even after seven weeks, and it takes a long time for any change to happen."

"That's anything run by an army for you. And sorry about the formula thing. Maybe I'll set Mrs. Anderson on that. No point in being in charge of anything if I can't delegate, eh?"

"That's the spirit. The health care predicament is serious, though. See if you can impress whomever with that. Everyone here has been sick with colds and dysentery and everything else since the first day and there just isn't enough staff at the hospital to deal with them all. When you add the normal reproductive rate on top of that, and then that small percentage in any population who need a little extra care…it's not working."

"Right. And this little guy is a classic example, isn't he?" Fitz waggled his fingers at Shinta again. "I'll be back again tomorrow."

"Same time, same place. See you then," Kenshin said, lifting the milk bottle in salute.

He returned to the stall after making sure Cho and Tatsuya were still playing marbles with some other kids at the end of the stable row, under the watchful eyes of two of the moms. After grabbing a bottle, lid, and nipple, and a spare diaper, he sat down on the lounge to bottle-feed Shinta. As usual, the baby was eager enough, and followed his usual pattern of sucking and regurgitating until Kenshin was sure he was wearing more milk than Shinta was ingesting. Possibly even more than had existed in the bottle to begin with. After a burping session, he laid the baby on his lap and started examining the bottle. It was possible that he was simply taking in too much air as he sucked, although he didn't seem to be pulling as hard as he had been when they first started getting milk. While he was looking, Cho stopped by his elbow.

"He's not so fat anymore," she said. "Not like when Mama first brought him home. He's almost skinny."

"Yes, he's losing weight. That's not good. Babies should be putting on weight."

"He's crying, too. Except that he's not making any noise." Cho kneeled next to the lounge and tickled Shinta under the chin and on the belly, trying to make him stop crying. It didn't work. His little hands waved angrily and his feet kicked, striking Kenshin on the stomach, but not hard enough to do any damage.

"I've noticed he does that. I suspect he's losing patience with me because I'm looking at the milk bottle instead of feeding him with it. And I'd suggest you stop annoying him before he does me an injury."

"Sorry. Is there something wrong with it?" Cho looked at the bottle, too, but it looked the same to her that it always did.

"Not that I can tell." Kenshin sighed and offered the bottle to Shinta again. "I thought maybe he was sucking in air with the milk, but I can't see how that would happen. With the bottle in this position, all he's getting is milk. There are no holes or gaps or anything."

"So why does he barf it all the time?" Cho asked, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Kenshin didn't seem to notice her verbal slip.

"I don't know. Something's not right. He tires out really fast, too. Or gives up."

Shinta had stopped sucking and Kenshin lifted the baby to his shoulder, patting his back and rubbing circles on it.

"Sorry, Shinta-chan, I just don't know what to do. I wish your doctor grandma was here. She had a few babies herself and helped birth a hundred or more. Maybe she saw something like this somewhere." Kenshin said it absently.

"But she'd be in Japan if she was still alive. And she'd be awfully old if she was," Cho said.

'That certainly wouldn't earn you points with Megumi-dono,' Kenshin thought with a sudden smile. She'd always been sensitive about her age, even though Kenshin, at least, had been older. The situation with Kanryuu and losing her entire family to the war and subsequent reprisals had aged her beyond her years, though, and she had never regained the capacity to be as carefree as the rest of what Yahiko had dubbed the "Kenshingumi". That bit of emotional distance had frustrated and saddened her on many occasions.

"Uncle Tom, do you think a woman could be a doctor in America like Great-grandma Sagara was in Japan?"

"I suppose it's possible. It might take some work to find a school that would accept you, if that's what you're interested in. Americans tend not to think of women as being capable of it, and you have race to consider, too. I don't know if there are schools that offer the correct curricula for colored people to become doctors."

"But colored people need doctors, too, so why wouldn't there be schools?"

"Because you have to have qualified, learned people to teach in them, and sometimes white people, who have the best access to getting the kind of education it takes, aren't interested in teaching not-white people. That's the way white society tends to work. Not in all places, but it's there and there's no point in trying to fool yourself about it. But I'm sure there are schools of medicine for colored people in the US; they're just going to be a bit harder to find. Or there's a possibility that you could go to Japan to study and then come back to the US to practice. Japan has several fine medical schools."

"But we're fighting a war with them." Cho looked puzzled.

"Well, hopefully by the time you're out of high school and looking for a college, the war will be long over. You've got a good nine years – a whole 'nother lifetime – before you head off for college." Kenshin crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her. "Silly girl."

Cho giggled and waved her hands at his face. "You're silly. How'd you know it was me I was asking about?"

"Who else? Your mother? I don't think she's looking for a new career path. But I think your Great-grandma Sagara would bust her buttons if someone, especially one of her granddaughters, became a doctor. Assuming she ever had buttons, which your dad never mentioned. Anyway, he said she was very disappointed none of her kids became doctors. She'd be proud of you."

Cho beamed, and then jumped up to run back to the game of marbles, swearing that she was going to win all of them from Riko this time. Kenshin laughed to himself as Shinta drifted off to sleep on his lap. Megumi would be proud of her no matter what, but perhaps wish she would be a little more lady-like. Kaoru would have loved her too, and would even have encouraged that hoydenish streak. He sighed. Maybe he shouldn't have walked away, but there had seemed to be no other answer at the time. At the very least, perhaps, he should have kept better track of them all.

xxxxxx

Masumi returned to the stall after dinner, tired and empty-handed.

"Nothing?" Kenshin asked quietly. He'd already taken the children to dinner, and they were playing ball with some of the other children in front of the barracks. He was sitting on the walkway whittling another animal for Tatsuya, Shinta asleep on his lap. Tatsuya had given his permission to put the five animals he had in the art show, and since this one was almost done anyway, it could go in, too.

"Nothing. I asked and explained, and was as polite as I could be, and then I waited all day. They said they'd try, but then no one seemed to take notice of me. I'm sure the minute they walked away from me, I was out of their minds. Everyone in camp is so sick. Living outdoors like this isn't good for people. I know our ancestors probably did something similar in the beginning of time, but it seems particularly harsh now, since we've all known better."

"Yes, it does." Kenshin didn't say he'd known worse, too. It all evened out eventually, but only if one was a student of history. If one had to live it, well, that was different. It never seemed exactly even then. "Did you get dinner?"

"No. I think we have some nuts and canned peaches that Mrs. Anderson brought last time. I can eat that, I guess. I'm not very hungry. I'm worried, Tom."

"So am I."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say. After a few minutes of silence, Masumi picked up Shinta and entered the stall. Kenshin could hear her rustling around, preparing to feed the baby.

"I'm going to go down and help set up the art show," he said, folding his knife and sliding it into his pocket. If he fiddled around anymore with this rat, he was going to end up lopping off a wooden ear.

"Okay. Would you send Cho and Tatsuya in, please? It's getting late and I really would like them to get a bath tonight. That's going to involve some waiting, so we need to get over there."

"I will." He called the children over as he went down the walkway, and explained what their mother wanted. Cho headed up the walkway right away, but Tatsuya lingered. Kenshin sensed a bit of rebellion, and when he showed Tatsuya the completed rat to distract him, almost regretted that decision. The little boy was so taken with it that he didn't want to hand it back to be put in the show.

"Now, now, you promised," Kenshin reminded him. "Great samurai don't break promises, remember? You'll get to see him again tomorrow with all the others, and then I'll bring them home when we tear it down in the evening."

Reluctantly, Tatsuya handed it back. "No wanna baf," he said.

"I know. Boys and baths don't seem to go together, but if we're going to the show tomorrow, you have to be clean. Otherwise everyone will see how dirty you are and your mama will be ashamed. We can't have that."

Tatsuya pouted, but went slowly up the walkway.

Kenshin spent the next several hours setting up tables and temporary panels where they could hang or place the various pieces of art. The teachers and their assistants had "framed" the drawings and paintings with white paper mats, giving the pieces a more finished look. When they were all hung, it gave the temporary panels a gallery feel. The tables were crowded with every sort of object imaginable, from _geta_ to sculptures made of twisted limbs of dry wood and stones, to quilted and embroidered pieces. A couple tables were left empty for an _ikebana_ display, since the flowers wouldn't be cut until morning.

They'd used the big lights along the track to set everything up by, once the sun had gone down, but as Kenshin made his way back to Barrack 16, the lights were turned off and he was mostly in darkness. It didn't bother him, except for the possibility that new trenches had been dug for the every-failing water system. One never knew where those would occur and it was getting to be a joke that they were purposely dug after dark to trap the unwary. Kenshin kept his senses open but didn't detect anything unusual.

Barrack 16 was hardly quiet even after ten o'clock. A rousing poker game was going on in one stall, and another on the south side of the building had the radio going, playing Big Band music while anyone who cared to join in danced on the lawn in front it. Kenshin ducked around the end of the building before any of the dancers could invite him to join in. Dancing was not in his list of accomplishments. Miné and her brother, who were the family unit in their stall, were playing checkers just outside the door. Miné was bundled in several blankets, a victim of the latest cold going around. Kenshin just waved and kept going. No way was he bringing a cold into the family, even if he couldn't catch it himself. A couple doors down, an argument was going on, although the people having it were inside, and somewhere, a toddler was having an emotional meltdown. Kenshin didn't think it was Tatsuya. The direction was wrong and Tatsu-chan couldn't hit those octaves, though he made up for it in volume.

In stall 28, it was mostly quiet; just a little rustling and a low crooning from Masumi that indicated that she was trying to feed Shinta. Tatsuya was snuggled so far down into his blankets that only a few tufts of hair stuck out.

"I'm back," he said softly, and got a quiet acknowledgement from Masumi. Not ready to go to bed yet, he grabbed a block of wood from the stockpile under his cot and went to sit out on the walkway. He contemplated it a while before he started carving. Peeking out of this block, he could see the bright eyes and pointed nose of a skunk. There was a layer of lighter colored sapwood down the middle that would be perfect for the stripe down its back, and the other end of the block had been near a branch in the tree. The grain showed curves and swirls that would mimic the skunk's fluffy, flirtatious tail. For several hours, then, he shaped the wood, a little pile of shavings growing on the walkway in front of him. His thoughts went back to the things that had been jumping in his head that afternoon.

Megumi, Sano, and Kaoru were all gone, now. Probably Aoshi, too. Misao would be in her eighties, and it wasn't impossible to think she might still be around, although Kenshin couldn't reconcile the vision of a bent, slow-moving old woman with Misao. Somehow, he expected she'd be one of those spry people who didn't recognize that they were elderly. She probably knocked over polite young men who tried to help her. That image made him smile. Sasuke had said Yahiko was still alive, still the Tokyo samurai who ruled his uptown dojo with undisputed authority and butted heads with Kenji about the future of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu. Some things never changed. He wished he'd made more effort to follow their lives, but that might have meant revealing himself and that, he'd been told, Simply Wasn't Done. No one understood Immortals, no one tolerated them, so no one could know about them. Period.

Down the stable row, the Big Band music had switched to something more bluesy and the radio was now playing Billie Holiday, singing 'Solitude' in plaintive, lonely tones. It fit his mood.

'In my solitude  
You haunt me  
With dreadful ease  
Of days gone by

In my solitude  
You taunt me  
With memories  
That never die…'

Kenshin sighed, folding his knife and sliding it into his pocket along with the chunk of wood that would become a skunk. If he was going to get up early and run in the morning, he needed to get some sleep now.

xxxxxx

"Mama's not going to the art show with us?" Cho asked as Kenshin gently pushed her and her brother down the walkway.

"No, she's taking Shinta-chan back to the hospital."

"He's really sick, isn't he, Uncle Tom?"

"Yeah, he's not doing very well. I hope she can see the doctor this time."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know."

They joined the crowd slowly walking up and down the aisles created in the center of the infield between the garden and the new barracks. The flowers had been cut and the _ikebana_ displays placed on the table. They had heard Yuki bustling about early that morning as she prepared for the day. Many of the _ikebana_ students were hers. More sculptures had been added, too. Some of them sat directly on the ground, since there hadn't been enough tables to hold everything people wanted to display. They were lucky the weather cooperated for them was a thought going through many minds that day.

"Here's our class," Cho said, turning back to look at Kenshin and her brother. The two were idling their way down the row of drawings.

"We're getting there," Kenshin assured her.

Although they'd seen some of their classmates' work, there was much that they hadn't. They'd each chosen three of their best to hang, and while the subjects hadn't changed too much, the execution had varied depending on age, skill, and the angle at which the objects had been viewed. The pictures had been hung by age groups and then by subject. Cho found hers hung with those of the other children in the class. She eyed them critically and decided they compared well. While she wasn't completely happy with her perspective piece, at least no one else's looked much better, and her rendering of an iris from the garden was, in her opinion, quite superior to the other flowers.

"They look nice with the white stuff around them," she said, just to make an observation as Kenshin and Tatsuya joined her. It would be rude to brag, but she felt she should say something.

"That's called a mat, and it does set off the pictures well," Kenshin agreed. He almost laughed out loud. Her ki was showing distinct sparkles of pride.

Tatsuya, having let go of Kenshin's hand, wandered a few more feet down the aisle. None of the drawings impressed him. He wanted to see the carvings and wooden toys, and especially the display of his animals, and kept urging the other two to hurry. He stopped by a torn picture, hanging out of its mat, and reached up to try to put the pieces back together to see what the picture was.

"Tatsuya!" Cho yelled, startling him. "What are you doing? Did you tear that?"

"Wanna see. No teared it. Was already teared," he said.

Cho lifted the torn piece and looked at the picture. "It's yours, Uncle Tom. The one with the bottle and the boot."

"Hm, it must have met with an accident," he said lightly, still back in the children's art section. "We'll tell our teacher when we come out the other side. Here's yours."

She had missed it, since she'd run ahead to see what Tatsuya was doing. She came back and looked at it. It was hard to think nice of it, after having seen Uncle Tom's. His bottle looked round and luminous, almost like she could reach in a pick it up, except the tear through the paper had spoiled that effect. Hers looked flat and unreal.

"It's not very good," she said.

"It's just as good as anyone else's and better than some. Don't be so critical."

"Dis one teared, too," Tatsuya said, distracting them. He was further down the aisle. He was bent over and peering up under the hanging paper but not touching it this time. Further down the row past him, they could see another torn picture.

The second torn picture was Kenshin's also, and when Cho ran ahead to look at the third one, he already knew what she was going to say.

"This one's yours, too, Uncle Tom. All three of yours are torn up."

'And only mine,' he thought. 'No doubt who's behind this.'

"Why would somebody do that?" Cho asked, bewildered.

"No appreciation of art," Kenshin said, but a suspicion was starting to form. "Let's go over and look at the carvings."

They stopped for a moment at the end of the aisle to tell Mariko about the torn art so she could remove it, and Kenshin waved off her apologies for the damage. It wasn't like his heart was involved in any of them; they were just classroom exercises, but he was glad he hadn't posted Tatsuya's samurai picture. That one was just too funny to lose.

They made their way over to the tables, admiring the cleverly carved figures, cars, boats, and other objects. One elderly gentleman had several paddlewheel toys in a bucket of water and poured dippers full of water over them to show how they would work if they were under a fountain, to the delight of his watchers.

Then there was a blank spot on a table, with a few shreds of paper on it. Kenshin flipped the shreds together, enough to see pieces of his assumed name on them.

"Well, this is where we set them up last night," he said.

"What? Tatsuya's animals?" Cho asked. She was still a bit put out that she had had to take a bath and go to bed instead of helping set up the display with Uncle Tom.

"This is where they were. I don't think anyone would have moved them."

A sharp cry of dismay brought their attention to Tatsuya. He was holding up a piece of the bear as big tears welled in his eyes. Kenshin squatted next to him.

"Let me see that, Buddy," he said, holding out his hand.

The bear had been smashed, not an easy feat for a compact, spherical piece of wood, and especially since the table and the ground showed no sign of trauma. But now that he looked, he could see other chunks and splinters of wood, and the faint shape of a square object impressed into the grass. Someone had set down a brick or another chunk of wood to use as a base to smash the animals.

'Probably used a hammer on them,' Kenshin thought. 'The slimeball. Messing up a kid's toys as some kind of twisted joke.'

Tatsuya had found a piece of the rat was sobbing over it. Cho was collecting whatever pieces she could find of the others.

"Hey," she said, wiggling out from under the next table. "This one's mostly okay. See?" She held up the deer, and then held it out to her brother. He took it, looked it over, and held it out to Kenshin, still crying.

"Is brokeded, too. You fix?"

Kenshin took the animal and looked it over. The tips of two antler tines had been chipped off, but otherwise the deer was unharmed. He sat down on the grass next to the table so that people could still get past and ignoring the curious looks from the other passers-by, gathered the little boy onto his lap.

"I can't fix him, Buddy. I can't put the wood back once it's broken off. But look at this – this here is a samurai deer. He fought off his attacker and now he's showing honorable wounds. That makes him very brave."

"Reawy?" Tatsuya ran his fist over his eyes and sniffled, but studied the deer. He didn't know deer could be samurai.

"Yep, really. And you know what's really cool? Remember I told you deer lose their antlers every year?"

"Uh huh."

"If this deer were real and his antlers got hurt like that, he'd shed them off, right? But then next year, when his antlers start growing again? Those two tines would never grow back. There would just be two little stubs just like that."

"Never?" Cho asked, intrigued, while Tatsuya's eyes got round.

"Never ever. Somehow, the deer's body knows that those are honorable wounds and they always show. For the whole rest of that deer's life, no matter how much bigger he and his antlers get and how many new tines he adds, those broken ones never come back. That," he said, pressing the wooden animal back into the little boy's hands, "is one tough little deer."

"Sam'rai deer," Tatsuya whispered, cuddling it against his chest.

"Yep. He's pretty special. Did you find any other survivors, Cho?"

"No. Just pieces. Whoever did that was pretty mean."

"Yes, he was. That's pretty sad, that someone has to live with that kind of meanness in their heart. We have to hope whoever it is will let their heart heal, right?"

"I bet whoever did that tore your pictures, too, Uncle Tom."

'Smart girl.'

"You could be right, Cho-chan. Do you two want to look at the rest of the toys and things?"

Tatsuya looked down at the deer in his hands and then at the pieces of the other animals that Cho had set on the table. Then he looked up at Kenshin and shook his head.

"No. Wanna go home." He got up from Kenshin's lap, and the older man stood too.

"Cho?"

"No, let's go home. Maybe Mama's back with Shinta-chan."

"Okay. Let's go, then." Kenshin scooped the splinters of the other animals into one hand and took Tatsuya's with his other. They left the art show without lingering over anything and made their way back to the barrack, but Masumi wasn't there. After holding a short, impromptu burial for the "dead" animals, with the samurai deer in a place of honor on the little table next to Tatsuya's cot, they played a sedate game of catch until it was time to line up for dinner.

xxxxxx

"Mrs. Himura, I just can't believe that a woman of your obvious intelligence wouldn't take better care of her baby," the nurse said, and plucked the child out of her arms before Masumi could blink. "This baby has all the classic signs of malnutrition," she continued.

"Is that what you call it?" Masumi said, her voice gaining a razor edge. "I just call it starvation, and I think it's more than that. I'm not generating enough milk for him and there's little to be had in this camp. Added to that, he's not keeping much of anything we feed him down, and what makes it through is all diarrhea. We can't even get him to keep water down to stay hydrated. I'm not stupid and I'm not new at this. I have two other children who made it through infancy just fine, but that's when I had knowledgeable and dependable medical care and I wasn't stuck in prison…" Her voice choked, stopping the flow of words. "I think there's something else wrong."

The nurse took the baby off the scale. She seemed not to have heard a word Masumi said. "Definitely underweight. I'm afraid we'll have to keep him here until we can get some weight back on him."

"Then you're keeping me, too."

The nurse blinked at her. "Oh, no, we can't do that. If you're not sick, you can't be here in the infirmary. You have to go back to your barrack."

"I will not! Kindly have someone send a note to Niitsu-san to take care of my other two children."

"Mrs. Himura, we can't do that. You can't stay here. I can't believe that you'd abandon your other children…"

"This is the one who needs me now; this is the one I'm staying with. The others adore Uncle Tom and they'll do just fine with him." Masumi's tone was final.

The door opened and the doctor came in, a harried-looking man who looked barely out of medical school. His light brown hair stuck up wildly, like he'd slept on it and then run his fingers through it multiple times. His blue eyes were tired and bloodshot, but kindly, and his gaze sharpened when he looked at the baby on the examining table. Shinta was mewling quietly and squirming a little under the nurse's hand.

"My goodness, that baby needs to be on intravenous; what's he doing here?"

"I was just telling Mrs. Himura…"

"No, it doesn't matter," he held up a hand. "Get a bassinet set up in ICU." He scooped up the child in one arm and pushed the nurse out the door ahead of him. "I'll be right back," he said over his shoulder, and as the door swung shut, Masumi could hear him barking other orders. She sank down onto the chair in the corner of the room and waited. She didn't know how much time had passed before he came back.

"I'm sorry, Mrs…?"

"Himura."

"Mrs. Himura. I'm Stan Goodrich, the doctor assigned here. I'm really sorry. No one told me you were having trouble with the boy. He's not eating?"

"He's trying to eat, but I'm not producing enough milk. We have a friend who gets us some through the fence, but he can't keep down a lot of what we give him. I've explained it before…"

"Yes, I'm sorry. I'm a one-man show here right now and we're all overwhelmed."

"The army didn't plan for medicine like they didn't plan for anything else," Masumi said, a touch of bitterness in her voice.

"Umm, yes. Ahh, I've put your baby on intravenous food – that means he's getting a nutrient solution through a vein in his thigh. I'm hoping it will pull him through until we can get him to eat regularly. I'm also putting a call through to some colleagues in San Francisco to see if they've heard of a condition like this. I'm sure this isn't the only baby we'll have, although he appears to be the first. If you want, you can come back and sit with him."

"Yes, thank you. Could you please send a message to Mr. Niitsu and let him know I'll be here. He's my husband's brother, and can take care of the other children."

"Absolutely." He took her hand and assisted her out of the chair – not that she really needed it – and guided her down the hall. He gave her a little white mask for over her nose and mouth and took her to the little bed they'd made up for Shinta. It was one of the larger tray tables they used for instruments with a flat little pillow for a mattress tucked into a shallow fruit crate. The baby was lying on his back with a tube taped to his leg. He'd already tossed off the towel they'd put over him like a blanket. His face was red and he appeared to be crying, but he wasn't making any sound. Wearing nothing other than a diaper, he suddenly looked horribly emaciated. The vague light in the other buildings had hidden much, but the fluorescent in this building was unforgiving. Masumi sat next to him on a chair Dr. Goodrich pulled up for her. She pulled the towel back up to keep him warm and stroked his cheek with a gentle finger until he eventually calmed down. She didn't feel very calm, herself, but she did the best she could to still her emotions. The Himuras seemed to be sensitive to the emotions of those around them – she'd noticed it in Sasuke and the other children – and there was no reason to think little Shinta was any different. She had to remain calm for him. When she stroked over the tiny fingers, they clamped around the smallest of hers in a surprisingly tight grip. She rested her hand against his cheek, leaving her pinkie in his grasp.

"It's okay, Baby Boy, Mama's here," she crooned softly. "Mama's always here for you, Shinta-chan. We finally got someone to listen. Dr. Goodrich is going to help take care of you now. It's going to be okay."

She dozed off, sitting there, head at an awkward angle. The sleepless nights and worry finally caught up with her and the room was so peaceful, so quiet compared to the rest of the camp. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a quiet room. Every place in the camp was so noisy and busy, even the barracks at night. Many people tried to shower or do laundry at night to avoid the crowds, with the result that even the night-time was crowded and busy. Here, there was nothing but peace and the low-level buzz of the fluorescent lights.

Masumi jerked awake, not sure of what brought her back. She seemed to have a voice echoing in her head; a man's voice calling her name in a baritone a little deeper than Sasuke's. Nothing seemed any different: the lights still buzzed, the door was still closed, and nothing else appeared to have changed until she looked at Shinta's hand, still curled loosely about her finger. He wasn't holding so tight anymore.

'But that would be normal if he was sleeping, wouldn't it?' she thought. 'No one holds tight while they're sleeping. But why do his fingers look blue? No, it's just the lighting…' Fear was starting to claw at her heart and she rested her hand on the little chest, searching for movement, a heartbeat…anything…

"Shinta?" She patted the little cheek, noting the blueness around the lips. "Shinta? Shinta?" Louder, a harder pat, then a sprint for the door. She yanked it open and stared down the deserted corridor.

"Doctor Goodrich!" she screamed. "Please! Somebody!"

The plump Japanese midwife rounded the corner two steps ahead of the doctor.

"Mrs. Himura?"

"It's Shinta. I can't feel him breathing or anything and he's blue. He's turning blue." It was hard to be coherent when her entire body was in a full-blown panic.

Somehow, they all fit through the doorway, although she was never sure afterwards who went first. They all seemed to squeeze through at once, but once inside, doctor and midwife were between her and the baby. When she moved forward to get closer, or get around, the midwife turned and wrapped her in a big hug, like her mother would have, when things went horribly, horribly wrong. Masumi didn't need to be told; she knew. Knew it was too late, and had been even when she'd run for the door, even when the voice had awakened her.

"No, no, he can't… he just can't. Not Shinta. He's just a baby. He can't…" She sobbed into the other woman's shoulder.

xxxxxx

It was Hiroki, acting in the capacity of a runner, who alerted them that something was wrong.

"Mr. Niitsu!" he yelled as he skidded around the corner of the stable building. "You've got to get to the hospital, quick."

With a quick look at Yuki to make sure she'd watch the other children, Tom was off the lounge and coming towards him. Hiroki saw his mother's questioning look, but since he didn't know what to tell her, he just shrugged. He'd already said all he knew.

He followed hard on Tom's heels, surprised by the older man's ability to run. Then again, like everyone else, he'd heard that Tom Niitsu ran on the track like a racehorse every day. Thank goodness he wasn't too winded from his first run or he'd never have been able to keep up. They jumped several ditches where the sewer pipes were being fixed and dodged through lines of people waiting for showers and laundry, and the men working in the centerfield garden. As they pounded down the track, Tom yelled "Jump!" and Hiroki barely managed to do so, clearing a length of rope that suddenly snapped taut about a foot above the ground, spanning the width of the track. It slowed him, putting him several paces behind Tom. The older man hadn't even broken his stride, almost like he knew about it before it happened.

"What was that?" he yelled as they continued towards the hospital.

"Somebody playing tricks," Tom said, but his tone of voice indicated that he didn't think it was very funny. Hiroki did a big mental leap.

"You think it was that weird guy? Yellow-teeth?"

"Could be." Tom was non-committal, but Hiroki figured the man knew more than he was saying. He always seemed to do that.

At the hospital, Kenshin was ushered towards the back, but Hiroki was stopped at the desk.

"Children are not allowed to visit," the nurse intoned.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, craning his neck to see if he could glimpse anything in the corridor while drawing in desperate gulps of air.

"Are you family?"

He looked her right in the eye, his need to know outweighing honesty. "Yes!" He might as well be, he thought. He'd known Mrs. Himura since he'd been a toddler. She'd babysat for him, played with him, and he'd always found her easier to talk to than his own mother. Mrs. Himura _listened_.

"Then you should have taken better care of your little brother when he was alive."

Hiroki stared at her. "Shinta's dead?" He was finding it hard to grasp. Of course he'd known the baby wasn't thriving, but dead? Stunned, he found himself outside again, and sank down against the wall. Babies weren't supposed to die, especially not babies he knew.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but one of the other runners was suddenly standing in front of him.

"Fukuzaki? Hey, aren't you supposed to be working today?" The other boy sounded a little disgusted.

Hiroki recognized his voice: Henry Ishito, the boy who had told him about Yellow-teeth. He was Daisuke's age and a little overbearing with the younger runners, but it was because he expected them all to work with the same mindless dedication he did. Hiroki mostly got along with him because he was fast and Henry seemed to respect that.

He looked up, tears suddenly welling in his eyes, but he blinked them back. It was all so normal. The world hadn't really stopped, the sky hadn't crashed down, it was just the day going on like it had been.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming." He got to his feet, blinking, and glanced back at the doorway. With Mr. Niitsu there, there probably wasn't anything he could do to help, and he didn't know what he could do, but he wished there was something. Sighing, he followed the other boy back to the administration offices.

xxxxxx

"We had to give her a sedative," Dr. Goodrich was saying. "Mrs. Toda couldn't calm her down."

He and Kenshin were standing in the empty corridor outside the room where Masumi was unconscious on of the cots. Shinta was still on the pillow in the fruit crate, but the towel now covered him entirely. Kenshin had looked in himself when he arrived, to see how Masumi was, to make sure they were right about Shinta, and to say a quiet farewell to the baby.

"We're not sure what the family traditions are for funeral services or anything, but we can help with the arrangements. I understand there are several priests of various denominations here – most have already stopped by to offer their assistance wherever necessary."

"I'm not sure what the family traditions are. I know they're Shinto, but it's pretty loose. I only met up with my half-brother's family last fall and discussing funerals hasn't been high on the list of topics. I can check with some of the family friends who are here," Kenshin offered.

"That would be a big help. Also, and I don't want to offend, but if possible, I'd like to do an autopsy on the baby and find out what the problem was. From what Mrs. Himura said, there could have been some kind of obstruction, but there's no way of knowing for sure without going in to look. It might help if there's another baby born in camp with this kind of problem, although I can't say that with a baby this small, surgery would be an option. But there's a chance, maybe, to provide intravenous nutrition until the baby gets big enough to be able to handle surgery. It's an avenue we might have been able to take here, if I had known of the problem sooner."

Autopsy. Kenshin found himself leaning against the wall. Cutting Shinta open and poking through his little body to see what everything looked like and find, if possible, something that was formed wrong or out of place. Despite the number of cut-open bodies he'd seen in his life, so many of his own doing, this seemed like such a violation. He had no idea what Masumi would think of it. Still, looming in the back of his mind was the crowd at the fence, thanking the guard for allowing milk through; the people in the barrack who stopped by to see how the baby was doing; all the older women and girls cooing over him; and the rumble of unrest about a baby who wasn't getting enough food and wasn't thriving. Certainly it was worth it, if finding a physical problem could keep the rumble from becoming a riot based on the government starving a baby to death? If they could point to something and say 'This is what was wrong and there was no way, or no time, or not enough talent, to fix it'. The scenarios flitted through his mind with the same speed and intensity of anticipating the moves of a dozen opponents at once, or trying to figure out what was needed at the scene of an earthquake or tsunami.

"I don't know what the family would have to say about that, but I will give you permission to do so. If they want to take me to task later, they can do so. I think it's important in this situation that we know for sure what was going on here."

"Thank you," Dr. Goodrich said, but before he could say anything else, Kenshin continued.

"I also think, that since you are obviously overworked here and you have some…staffing issues…that you would be better served by tapping into the wealth of medical knowledge within this camp. There are a several score doctors here, and probably twice as many nurses who could help in this facility, and it seems ridiculous to run one man ragged and have only one nurse-midwife to help translate for the patients who don't speak English very well. That's only a suggestion and you can take it or leave it, but it might be worth your consideration."

"Yes, thank you. My understanding is that this is only a holding facility until the army decides what the next step is, so they haven't really considered those kinds of things, but you are correct that there needs to be more staffing here to keep up with the workload. I'll forward your suggestion up the line."

"Thank you."

"The autopsy will take a couple days, maybe even as much as a week. Once again, I'm not sure if this will step on religious beliefs, but I'll try to move as quickly as possible on this and get and answer back to you as soon as possible and release the body for services."

"Thank you again. I'll find out more about the services that might be required from the family, and I'll be back in the morning to see how Mrs. Himura is."

xxxxxx

It was dark when his shift was over and Hiroki returned to Barrack 16, finding a small crowd hanging around outside it. Every light next to a doorway was on, and the residents were hanging out on the walkway and in the trampled grass in front of the building. Amongst them, he could pick out some of the other kendo students. He didn't see Tom Niitsu or Mrs. Himura, but his mother met him halfway down the walkway.

"Did you hear anything else?" she asked. "What's going on?"

Hiroki wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Mr. Niitsu isn't back yet?"

"No. We haven't heard a thing since you came tearing around here earlier. What's going on?"

Oh, he didn't want to have to say this. Didn't know how, really. It still seemed surreal.

"Little Shinta is dead," he said softly. "One of the nurses told me, but that's all I know. They wouldn't let me in."

Despite the softness of his words, others heard and spread the news, like a current through the assembled people. There were soft cries and muffled sobbing, and then someone was tugging on Hiroki's shirt-tail.

"Hiroki? What did you say?" Cho was looking up at him, color leached from her eyes. They just looked big and dark in the uncertain light from the doorways.

"Umm, one of the nurses said your little brother was dead, but I didn't see your mom or Mr. Niitsu after he went in, so I don't really know… Just that…" Gad, he hated seeing tears well up in her eyes like that. Cho was all right, for a girl. Never prissy, really talented at kendo, and darned good with marbles, too. Tears just weren't her style. He awkwardly patted her shoulder. "I'm sure when Mr. Niitsu gets here, he'll be able to tell us more."

Then his mother had enveloped Cho in a hug and pulled her into their stall and he was left looking at his father and brother and some of the neighbors.

"Really, that's all I know," he said, wishing he didn't feel so helpless. He eventually sat on the edge of the walkway, leaning on the lower part of the rail and letting his legs dangle over the edge. It was as close to getting out of the way as he could get without being isolated inside the stall.

It was close to midnight when Kenshin wearily turned the corner of the barrack and found a crowd still gathered there. His first instinct was to turn around and walk away again, but he knew it wasn't practical and someone spotted him before he could anyway. The crowd shifted, gathering around him, asking for news. He put them off.

"First I have to see to the children," he said, weaving his way around anyone in his path. "Where are Cho and Tatsuya?"

"They're here, Tom," Kisho said from the walkway in front of their stall.

At the mention of his name, Cho came barreling out of the room, pushing past the forest of legs around her and launching herself at the man she called "Uncle".

"Is it true, Uncle Tom? Is Hiroki right? Is Shinta d-d-dead?"

He caught her as easily as her dad always had, and she wrapped arms and legs around him, burying her face in his neck.

"Yes, it is, Honey. I'm sorry. Your mom is staying there tonight, so you're stuck with me. Shhh, now." He stroked her hair, trying to calm the wild sobs that his words invoked. Like Kaoru, her every emotion was expressed with her entire being. There were no half measures. He met Yuki's eyes over Cho's head.

"Tatsuya is sleeping on Hiroki's cot. We can leave him there, if you don't mind. Hiroki can sleep on my cot and I can stay with Cho, or he can sleep on Tatsuya's if you don't mind him with you."

"It doesn't matter, whatever works. They had to give Masumi a sedative. And I finally met the doctor, who seems like a decent guy, if more than a bit overworked. He asked about doing an autopsy. I don't know how that fits with family tradition or anything, but I thought it the best way to find out exactly what happened and keep the rumors at a minimum, so I gave permission for it. Masumi can yell at me later if she wants."

"What's a autospy, Uncle Tom?" Cho asked, lifting her head for a moment.

"It's an examination the doctors do to find out why people die," Kenshin said.

"But we know he didn't eat enough," she said. "Wouldn't that be the reason?"

"Maybe, or maybe there's another reason. Remember how he always threw up after he ate? That might be something important or it might be he was just trying to eat too fast. Sometimes they can tell for sure if they look. I think they should look so if there's another baby that is having the same problem, they'll know what to look for and maybe they can fix it and save the other baby. Make sense?"

"Uh huh." Cho tucked her head against his shoulder again.

"Okay. I think you need to go to bed now." He leaned over to set her on the ground, but Cho's grip got tighter. "No, seriously, you need to get some sleep. It's way past your bedtime."

She finally relented and let go, shuffling slowly toward their stall, a few doors down from the Fukuzaki's, but as Kisho and Yuki claimed Kenshin's attention, she hunkered down next to Hiroki at the edge of the walkway. The talk was all about funerals and priests and Shinto and Buddhist and things she didn't really understand.

"What's cream got to do with it?" she whispered.

"Cremation," Hiroki whispered back. "It's a tradition where they burn the body of the dead person."

"Ew," said Cho.

"Takes up less room than burying the body in a coffin."

"Bed, you two," Kenshin said firmly, his glance past Kisho's shoulder like a spear that went through both of them. "Hiroki, you can use Tatsuya's cot. It's left of the door as you go in."

"Busted," Hiroki whispered, then said in a normal voice: "Uh, okay." He didn't bother to get any of his things from his own stall. He'd slept in his clothes before, and he wanted to make sure he was ready if anything was needed. He pulled the blanket up to his chin, aware that Cho had climbed fully clothed into the cot to the right of the door.

'Mr. Niitsu is going to find himself without a cot,' he thought before he dropped off to sleep.

It didn't end up mattering after all. Every time he woke in the middle of the night, it was to see Tom Niitsu sitting in the doorway, leaning against the frame, as if he was on guard. He couldn't be sure if it was a trick of the light, or his imagination, or maybe just a dream, that made it look at one point as if the man cradled a samurai sword against his shoulder as he dozed.

xxxxxx

_Vocabulary_

_Most of these you probably already know, but just in case you don't…_

_Hakama – the trousers that are part of traditional Japanese clothing. Some, like Sano's or Hiko's are "1-panel" style while others, like Kenshin's, are "7 panel" style. Hakama may also be skirt-like, without the split for individual leggings._

_Tabi – tight socks with a split between the big toe and the rest._

_Zori – sandals, usually made of straw, that are worn with the tabi._

_Gi – the top usually worn with hakama._

_Haori – the wide jacket often worn over the gi._

_Tanto – a small knife that could be tucking in one's obi (belt)_

_Wakizashi – the short sword in a set._

_Geta – the wooden sandals with the raised bars underneath that run perpendicular to the length of the foot. They were built at varying heights, but the idea was to get the wearer above the wet and the mud during bad weather._

_Ikebana – the art of flower arranging._


	15. Chapter 15

_I don't own anything, as usual._

Chapter 15 - Lessons

Ikenaka wound his way through the groups of men in one of the Japanese barracks at Fort Missoula, a slip of yellow paper in his hand. It had come in late last night, but he thought perhaps, this was news that could wait until morning. There were no secrets in camp. Their numbers had shrunk until there were now a couple dozen over three hundred of them left. In such a close community, everyone pretty much knew everyone else's business, and all had been aware that Sasuke's initial joy at the birth of his second son was gradually dimming. The news in subsequent letters from the man's wife had not been good, and while he didn't share all of it, it was obvious that the babe hadn't been thriving. This telegram confirmed the worst.

"Himura-sensei?" he asked, coming up behind Sasuke as the younger man straightened the shirt over his shoulders and started to button. "You have a telegram." He offered the yellow paper apologetically, and knew that Sasuke could read the news in his face. Typically, though, Sasuke thanked him politely and showed nothing himself. He simply moved away from the rest of the men, toward a window where the light was a little better.

xxxxxx

It was the sudden quiet in the room that made Sasuke realize something was amiss. Then there was the stinging in his knuckles and the realization that he'd just put his fist entirely through the wall of the barrack that brought him back to himself. Gingerly, he plucked at the splinters of three-quarter-inch pine and pulled his hand back through the hole, aware that everyone in the room was staring at him. He didn't care, really, but…

"Gomennasai…I'm sorry," he choked out, and then turned and walked out the door. He didn't really know where he was going, but the urge to get away was strong. He shoved his hands into his pockets, ignoring the sting of the injured one, and let his arms hold back the flapping tails of his shirt.

He found himself outside the office of the camp superintendent, Bert Fraser. He didn't realize until he walked inside that it had started to rain some time during his walk and he was soaked. That must be why his face was so wet.

"Mr. Himura, wait, I…," Bert's secretary, young, earnest-looking man with round glasses and sandy hair, leaped out from behind the desk. Having done so, though, he didn't seem to know what to do with himself or Sasuke. Most men would have stopped at his initial protest, but Sasuke didn't even look at him. He just walked past and through the open doorway into Fraser's office.

Fraser was a man of average looks and height, in his fifties, with close-cropped dark hair that was greying at the temples. His face and eyes were kindly and his jaw wore a perpetual five o'clock shadow that made his chin appear to recede. He was known to be sympathetic to the plight of the men in his charge and truly cared about their morale and well-being. He'd made it a point to talk to every one of them, Japanese and Italian, to get to know them and had appreciated Sasuke and a couple of the other men offering to translate for him with those who didn't speak English well. It helped things run more smoothly when he knew the men and their concerns and could anticipate their needs. He wasn't surprised to see Sasuke, but the fact that the man was half-dressed and dripping water wasn't expected. Sasuke Himura usually dressed well and seemed to be one of those kind of men who could do the roughest exercise without misplacing a hair, a trait that Fraser viewed with both amusement and envy. He could also tell at a glance that something was wrong. He was out of his chair in an instant.

"Mr. Himura, please sit down," he said, motioning to a sturdy wooden chair in front of his desk as if the visit was expected. Before he closed the door, he paused for a word with his secretary.

"Nelson, get a couple towels for him and don't let anyone interrupt us, okay?"

"Now, then, what can I do for you today?" he asked Sasuke as he returned to his chair.

"I need to go home, Sir. I mean, where my wife is. We just… She…" He couldn't say it; he just mutely held out the telegram, crumpled by his fist when it went through the wall and unrelinquished since.

Fraser carefully straightened out the yellow paper and read it.

SASUKE, SO VERY SORRY. SHINTA DIED TONIGHT. MASUMI SEDATED. AUTOPSY ORDERED. OTHER KIDS OK WITH ME. TOM

"Shinta was the baby, right?" he asked.

Sasuke nodded. "I didn't even get a chance to hold him," he whispered, voice breaking. He buried his face in his hands, and didn't notice when the door opened and Fraser got up to take the towels from Nelson, shooing the curious man back out the door. He draped one over Sasuke's shoulders and returned to his desk, saying nothing and waiting for the emotional storm to pass.

Sasuke finally raised his head, wiping at his eyes and Fraser handed him the other towel.

"I need to be with my wife. If she's sedated, she's not taking this well. Not that anyone would, but… When she miscarried before she was depressed for weeks afterwards. This is worse. She needs me there and I need to be there with her. I'm sure Tom and Yuki and all will do what they can, but I need to be there."

"I know," Fraser agreed.

"I don't even know why. Just that he wasn't eating well. I guess that's why they're doing an autopsy."

"You may not find out while you're here," Fraser said gently.

"Why not? If they're doing the autopsy, then they can write to me."

"But the army might not let it through. Mr. Himura…Sasuke, if I may?"

Sasuke nodded.

"Here you are under the authority of INS, the Immigration and Naturalization Service, but your family is under the control of the army," Fraser explained, choosing his words carefully. "The army is selling the relocation as a necessary step because of the possibility of information leaking to the enemy, whether accidentally or with intent. But because so many of the people being moved are American citizens, they are making the point that the relocation is not a hardship; that all the people are going to pioneering communities that will become model towns. They don't want any hint escaping that things might not be what they could be. They don't want any criticism of conditions, services, treatment, or anything else to leak out. It might weaken support for the war effort. They might consider the results of the autopsy, depending on what they are, to be a criticism of the treatment your family received or the conditions they're in, and even if the results were written to you, they might black or cut them out, or even not deliver the letter. All the letters passing directly between the army run camps or between army camps and the general public go through censors in New York – that's why delivery takes so long. We short-cut that by running the letters through our own censors. Not as much volume to go through so the mail moves quicker. The army wants us to go through the same system they do, but I'm of the opinion that if we did that, the censors would be so backed up that none of you would ever get any mail at all. I understand that hearing from your family and friends is important, so I don't want any more delays than necessary. But the army does scrutinize about ten percent of them which have been deemed to have information of a sensitive nature. I'm thinking the details of a death at a camp might be sensitive and they will scrutinize that closely. So you see that even if they write the results, you might not get them."

Sasuke nodded dully.

"On the other hand, I have been hearing rumors that many of the interpreters at the original loyalty hearings are petitioning the government to re-hear the cases because the line of questioning followed often didn't have anything to do with judging the loyalty of the Issei in question. Is that your interpretation of your hearing? You are one of the few I've met who are truly fluent in English."

"Yes. They asked me things like if my children went to Japanese language school. I said my daughter has. She has relatives in Japan, and if she is to speak with her extended family, she will have to know Japanese. The board couldn't figure out why I didn't send my son, too. I tried to tell them that he's only two and doesn't communicate well in any language, but they weren't buying that." Sasuke spread his hands as Fraser grinned at his wry humor.

"How does my children speaking Japanese reflect on what country I'm loyal to? They asked me who I wanted to win the war and if I was still loyal to Japan. Honestly, I don't…" He stopped and pushed his drying hair back from his forehead while leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His next words appeared to be directed at the floor. "I don't care who wins. Things will be bad for the losers either way. That could be me and my family or it could be the rest of my father's family. There's no win in that. And if you want to get technical, you could say that if I was loyal to the Emperor, I would never have left Japan to try to be an American. But I can't be that, either, because America doesn't want me. I can't be a citizen here. The rest of the questions were even more obscure. The whole thing was, quite frankly, a farce."

"Exactly, and everyone here has the same dilemma. That's what the interpreters were trying to point out. That any reasonable man would not be able to make a determination based on the questions asked and the answers given. You were lucky to be able to speak for yourself. Some of these men didn't have unbiased interpreters like the Quakers or the Methodists. They had Koreans who spoke Japanese, who didn't necessarily interpret in, shall we say, an exact manner."

"Yes, I know. A couple of the men have said they didn't go to their hearings when they heard their interpreter was Korean. Japan has a long…bad…history with Korea. My grandfather was killed somewhere near there in one of our many wars with them and China."

"So. The Quakers and Methodists and all the other denominations who provided interpreters are petitioning the government for re-hearings and we will be given the opportunity to have detainees whose parole has been denied to reapply. I'm going to encourage each and every one of you to do that. Write to your friends and employers on the outside and have them write letters of support, my staff and I will do whatever we can to help you fill out the forms correctly, have your families write about how much they need you there, and with any luck, we can get the rest of you reunited with them. Actually, I'd like your assistance in this effort, if I could, since you are fluent in both Japanese and English. You can help out the men here with translating things correctly."

Sasuke nodded, scrubbing his hands across his face. "Whatever I can do, if it gets me to them. I'm not asking to go home; I just want to be wherever they are."

"We'll try to get you there. I won't promise it'll be fast, or that it will happen at all, but we'll try. The problem is, like it or not, you come from a very martial family. As far as I know, every male of legal age in your family teaches martial arts except one uncle. That uncle and several males under legal age all practice martial arts. In the eyes of the United States government, your family is a threat, either by being able to fight or by training others to do so."

"But that's not the purpose of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu," Sasuke protested. "It's for self improvement…"

Fraser held up a hand. "It doesn't matter what the purpose is, any more than it matters that you teach swords and the army fights with guns. The roots are in combat and that's what our government is looking at. If the Japanese government asked your family to fight or to train fighters, what would they do?"

Sasuke's automatic retort of 'refuse!' died on his lips. How could his family refuse with honor? The Japanese government wouldn't understand a non-combative sword style any more than the US government did. Hadn't his grandfather died in China because the government asked him to go? As an advisor to the army, surely, and not a warrior, but that made no difference. He'd had the right of refusal, according to Kenji, but had chosen to go. Sasuke didn't think this generation of government would be so understanding. The only reason his father and brothers hadn't gone to war in Korea was because they hadn't been asked. This war was different. It was bigger and more ambitious than anything Japan had yet tried, against an industrialized nation the like of which they had never come up against. He had no idea what it would mean.

"I don't know," he finally said, miserably.

"Exactly."

"They'll never let me out of here, will they?"

"Maybe. They might think releasing you into army custody in whatever camp your family is in is a better solution. That perhaps, you are not an INS problem, and they can keep a better watch on you there. I don't know. All we can do is try again. Write some letters to your friends and employer on the outside, have your family write some, too. And then we'll see. I don't know when they are going to make a decision on this, or if it will happen, but if it does, we should be prepared."

Sasuke walked back to his barrack after that. It was still raining, but he'd turned down Fraser's offer of an umbrella. He wasn't that dry yet, and it didn't seem to matter. He'd grab his gear and shower for the second time that morning, and then he had to hustle over to the canteen. His group was cleaning up after breakfast, which he'd missed, but that was no excuse to duck the work, too. Then he'd have to go back to the barrack and see about fixing the hole in the wall. That was an embarrassment. He'd never lost control like that before.

There weren't many men in the barrack when he returned, and they seemed hesitant to approach him. He didn't blame them at all. He gathered up his shower kit and clean, dry clothes, hunting for a moment under his cot until he found his umbrella. When he stood again, Iwao Matsushita was standing behind him.

Matsushita was in his early fifties, shorter than Sasuke, and with greying hair that receded ruthlessly from his forehead. He was one of the other fluent speakers of English amongst the Japanese in the camp and ran a class to help the others. Unlike Sasuke, who knew his sentence from the review board had been imprisonment, Matsushita had not yet heard the results of his questioning four months earlier, and with his wife in an assembly center in Washington with only a busy uncle to care for her, Sasuke knew the man worried constantly.

"We were worried about you," Iwao said. "Are you all right?"

"Not really," Sasuke replied with a twisted half smile. "My baby died last night and my wife…isn't taking it well."

"I'm sorry. I will pray for you…and God is with you."

"No offense, but I'd rather my family be with me. If you could ask Him for that, I'd appreciate it." As one of the camp's Christian Japanese, Matsushita prayed more than anyone Sasuke knew, and like most Shinto, Sasuke wasn't about to turn down help wherever it was offered. After all, who knew?

"I ask for all of us to be reunited, always," Matsushita said seriously.

"Thank you." Sasuke lifted his bundle. "I need to get to the shower and…hey, the wall is fixed." His eyes lingered on the place where his fist had gone through. The shattered pieces of board had been replaced with new, carefully cut to fit.

"Yes. We thought it better than letting the rain in." The twinkle in the older man's eyes belied the rebuke. "We are all quite impressed."

"Oh, uh," Sasuke waved a hand. "That wasn't…I could go through four times that." He stopped speaking and rolled his eyes. "That wasn't bragging…"

Matsushita laughed and waved him towards the door. "Go. Shower."

xxxxxx

Fitz broke into a broad grin as Kenshin entered the big room and threaded his way through the chattering crowd. He waved the package in his hand.

"Hey, hey, K-Tommy, look-it here. Fitzcairn comes though – I finally got my hands on some of this stuff."

Kenshin didn't seem to respond, didn't even look up. He even seemed a little dazed, so Fitz tried again.

"Look – baby formula in powdered form. Do you know what I had to go through to get this? Fighting my way through teeming throngs of the female sex…" He would have gone on, exaggerating as necessary, but at that point, Kenshin finally did look up through shaggy mahogany bangs. His eyes were bleak.

"I'm sorry, Fitz. It…it's too late. Shinta…died last night." His voice choked and he stopped, staring first at the ceiling, then the floor, sucking in his lips and clamping down on them with his teeth as if stopping the words could undo the reality.

All of Fitz's good humor fled and he seemed to deflate on the spot.

"I'm sorry…Tom. I guess I didn't move fast enough."

"No, I don't…" Kenshin stopped again and gave an abortive wave of one hand.

Both men stood in silence, a little ring of space around them as other people in the room subtly shifted away, giving what privacy could be given.

"I don't think it's your fault, Fitz. I just…" He was finding it hard to think in English, to find the right words. "I just want to know," he finally ground out, "what kind of threat an infant or a woman going into childbed could be to the great United States. Why they couldn't have sent her to a hospital just in case, knowing that the infirmary here was understaffed." He dragged a sleeve across his face, wiping away tears Fitz hadn't seen. "Knowing that childbirth is the biggest killer of women in the country. They have made more enemies from this senseless incarceration than they ever had before it. Already the people in our barrack are muttering that their treatment of Masumi was to purposely kill the baby."

"They don't care about enemies, Tom," Fitz said soberly. "It's about racism, pure and simple, and the small-minded who are in power right now are looking at this as a way of removing all of you for someone else's benefit. You know that. They haven't done the same to the Italians and the Germans because they look like mainstream white America. But your folk look obviously different and the fact that you're so industrious and keep to yourselves emphasizes the difference. Doesn't matter that they don't allow you to mix. They're fighting Hitler in Europe and acting like him at home, except they haven't killed anyone yet. Maybe. It's the one facet of my very own white society that I just can't stand. This ridiculous belief that we're better than anyone else because of the color of our skin. I don't see why we can't make more effort to get along. I've been around a while, you know, and except for color and culture, there's no difference in human beings."

If anyone would know about people, it would be Fitz. Kenshin knew the other Immortal had over eight hundred years to his credit and he was as sociable as any human could be. Fitz genuinely liked being around and mixing with other people, learning customs and generally having a good time. While he held on to his own dear Englishness, he had a wealth of information about other peoples and an affable personality that gained him entrance almost anywhere actual knowledge or a good bluff could take him. The fact that the men making the decisions hadn't even the slightest grain of Fitz's open-mindedness was as irritating to Kenshin as sand to an oyster.

They were silent again for a long time, gazing across the room lost in their own thoughts, until Kenshin sighed.

"I'm sorry, Fitz. I honestly can't say if I've ever been this angry before, but I'm hardly good company now."

"That's all right, I understand." He pressed the package into Kenshin's hands. "Give this to some other mother who might need it for her babe. And please, tell Masumi how very, very sorry I am for her loss."

"I will. Thanks, Fitz. I've got a favor to ask."

"Anything."

"We're trying to arrange a funeral but the cremation will have to take place outside of here. I can't go – they only let immediate family and a priest. If you could meet Masumi…"

"Say no more. Tell me when and where, and I'll be there with bells on." Fitz grimaced. "Or maybe not bells."

Kenshin smiled briefly. "Bells would fit."

xxxxxx

Masumi was released from the hospital two days after Shinta's death but stumbled through the first week like she was sleepwalking. The whole family attended the parts of the funeral that were held in the camp, but only Masumi and Cho went to the crematorium. Fitz, not only showed up himself, but rallied their friends and Sasuke's students to provide an escort. It was, perhaps, a little unorthodox, but no one was complaining and the support was appreciated. A few days after that, Dr. Goodrich called Masumi and Kenshin in to discuss the results of the autopsy. Masumi sat like a statue and left the questions to Kenshin.

"So what did you find out?" he asked.

Stan twitched a few papers and a couple black and white photos from a file. Two of the papers were covered with drawings that initially looked similar. He laid them out on his desk facing Kenshin and Masumi, with the photos situated over the drawings and Kenshin could see that the photos were x-rays, showing bones in white, cartilage and other harder tissues in grey, and wide expanses of black that were soft tissue. Taking his pen from his pocket, the doctor used it as a pointer.

"Based on the symptoms described, we focused on the digestive tract. This photo on your left shows a normal one, although it is a little bigger than your baby was, and the drawing shows some of its component parts – connections with other organs, associate blood vessels, nervous system, the whole works. The one on your right shows what we found in…um…Shinta. You'll notice they're very similar. A little bit of natural variation, but otherwise, pretty close until you get here." His pen touched first a grey area on the film and then an inset drawing that showed an expanded view of an area where the esophagus met the stomach.

"This is the cardiac or lower esophageal sphincter, a ring of muscles between the bottom of the esophagus and the top of the stomach to close off stomach and prevent food or stomach acid from coming back up in normal circumstances. It's meant to be a one-way valve, but of course, illness or other reasons can force food and stomach acid in the other direction. In Shinta's case," he touched the second photo and then drawing, "this connection is malformed. It's narrower and stiffer, and basically wasn't letting much through at all. You can see on the x-ray photo that it's a lighter grey. That indicates hardness. That's why even though he was trying to eat, he often regurgitated most of it and only a little got through. If we had known he was having a problem sooner, we could have taken the x-ray to find the problem, but then we would have had to try to fix it. Honestly, I don't think a baby that small would have survived the surgery, and I'm not sure if any fix we tried would have worked. I personally don't know of any cases like this where it has worked even in an older child, and neither did the colleagues I discussed it with. There have been cases where they were able to use intravenous feeding to keep the baby alive until it was older and larger, but the surgery has never worked yet."

"So basically, he didn't have a chance from the beginning," Kenshin said flatly.

Dr. Goodrich met his eyes unflinchingly. "Basically, no. I'm sorry."

There wasn't much more. Kenshin had studied both x-rays and drawings, and then he guided Masumi back to the stall, where she disappeared into the back. Kenshin stayed close, waiting for Yuki to get back from teaching her class. He could see Mrs. Sato playing with a group of children, Cho and Tatsuya included. She had been a kindergarten teacher in a school in Japantown and had a host of activities that could keep small children occupied, enlisting the older ones to help her out. When Yuki arrived, he filled her in on the results of the autopsy.

Yuki shook her head. "She's miscarried twice before, between Cho and Tatsuya. The fact that she carried this baby to term and birthed him gave her a false hope that everything would be well. That's why this one is the cruelest death of all. And made worse without Sasuke here."

"I wasn't aware of that. I think we need to keep someone with her all the time, at least until she starts to come around. I don't know that she's unstable, but she is very depressed."

"Normal for after birthing anyway, and now this on top of it." Yuki shook her head, clicking her tongue. "I'll sit with her for a while."

"Okay, I won't be far away. We'll have to coordinate supper, too, but I'm sure we can manage."

Yuki smiled. "We always do."

Kenshin settled on the lounge with his knife and the wooden skunk, which was nearing completion. He was working on detailing the fur on the fluffy tail when Cho left the group of children and came over to him.

"Uncle Tom, have you ever been to a funeral before?" Cho asked, sitting on the end of the lounge.

"Yes."

"They're very sad, aren't they?"

"Yes. And happy, too."

"I didn't see anything to be happy about," she said glumly, pulling her feet up to rest on the chair and wrapping her arms around her shins. "I mean, I got to see Lee and Amy and Maria 'cause they came with their parents, but we had these guards following us – Mama and me – around everywhere. Even when we went to the bathroom, the guards were right outside the door. And then it was like, we didn't know what to say to each other and there wasn't much time except when they burnt Shinta all up. But then Mama and I had to pick his bones out with chopsticks and put them in a jar and the priest blessed it and then everyone went home and Mama brought the jar home with us."

"Well, funerals are sad and happy, but they're not exactly fun," Kenshin said. "Happy because Shinta's not hungry anymore and not in pain, which it seemed like he was, sometimes. Since the doctors said his stomach wasn't quite formed right, it might have been painful. Being hungry all the time is, for a while. Then the pain stops and it's just all hollow-feeling. Now he's got great grandmas and grandpas to look after him."

"But why did they burn him up? And I don't ever want to eat with chopsticks again."

"They are special chopsticks, only used for funerals. You wouldn't eat with them. It is traditional to burn the deceased and then use the chopsticks to place the bones in an urn. Some people believe that burning the body frees the soul so it can return in a new life. Japan is a small country and most of it is very mountainous, so there aren't very many places to bury people like there are here. Every place that might make a good cemetery is used as crop land. It has to be."

"We're not in Japan anymore."

"No, but that's the tradition that your family follows. Many Japanese follow it."

"Do you? You're American; did you burn up your family when they died?" Her voice was a mixture of confusion, belligerence, and pain.

"Some were, some weren't, and sometimes I had to make the arrangements for it either way." He had done the final honors for so many people; some he considered family and some not. They'd all deserved something. He'd felt that way as a child of eight and time hadn't changed that opinion. "I will forgive the rudeness in your tone because I understand you're upset."

Abashed, Cho sat with her chin on her knees, looking off towards the cars that were passing on the highway on the other side of the fence where she couldn't go. It made her wonder where they were going and wish to go along, wherever it was. It didn't matter as long as there weren't any fences and she could go where she wanted and nothing smelled like horse. She used to like horses.

"She brought the jar home. Why? Shouldn't it sit in a shrine or one of those big stone houses?"

"Probably lots of reasons. Not ready to let go of him yet, not wanting to leave him behind in a cold church that isn't his religion, your father hasn't seen him yet… All kinds of reasons. It's a tradition in many families to place the jar in the home shrine for a hundred days and to say prayers for the deceased. Then they are some times placed in a shrine or buried."

"Why?"

"It shows respect for the dead. It shows we appreciate their life and we're going to miss them. Death is part of life and we shouldn't treat either as if they meant nothing. They hold both joy and sorrow and we should honor both those things because they give us balance."

Cho was silent for a long time. Then she said: "He should have a prettier jar."

Kenshin turned the skunk in his hands, carving neat, delicate grooves into its chest to show the fur there.

"There is a simple elegance in that jar. Plain white, because he didn't have a chance to show us who he was yet. When you have a chance to live, you can have decorations on the jar that show who you were. Or none, if you were a simple person and liked things that way." In his mind's eye, he could see another jar: large, elegantly formed, and of pure white clay decorated with bold swirls of red glaze that almost looked like dragons. Hiko's jar, that he had made for himself, buried with his bones on a mountain outside Kyoto. Kenshin had been half-tempted to take it with him when he left, to honor his second father with prayers and incense, but he knew what Hiko's opinion of that would have been.

_Baka! Dragging me all over the blessed world when you know I would have preferred to be left in peace on my mountain. If I'd wanted to travel the world, I would have._

He smiled to himself. He could almost hear his master's voice ringing in his ears. But he did worry about the place. He knew Hiko had willed it to Yoshi, but he didn't know how often, if ever, his younger son visited the place. He hated to think of it falling into decay. Maybe, once Sasuke was with them again, he'd sound his grandson out on if the family ever went there and what he thought of it.

"It's almost suppertime," Cho said.

"Yes. We should probably call your brother in and see if we can get cleaned up before we go to the line."

"It'll be loooong!" she moaned.

"It always is. That's why it's better if we start early. Come on." He pocketed skunk and knife as Cho got to her feet and yelled for Tatsuya.

Kenshin winced and facetiously stuck a finger in his ear. "Louder, I don't think the people in Berkeley heard you."

Cho looked for a moment as if she was going to burst into tears, but she held it back. "I'll go get him," she said, and began to walk towards the other children.

Kenshin just sighed.

xxxxxx

Kenshin spent the next couple days showing Daisuke how to repair the tools and sharpen the ones that needed it. Most of the heavy work in the garden was winding down. An artificial hill had been created from the soil dug from the curved pond and the slope was being terraced by building retaining walls from scrap lumber. Kisho and half a dozen men were constructing a couple benches, and a whole gang of mostly younger men had dug up several saplings from the outskirts of the fenced area and dragged them into position on tarps that weren't useful for much afterwards. Daisuke didn't say anything, but Kenshin got the impression – mostly through his diligence towards the tools – that the teenager was glad he'd missed tree-moving duty. The flat sections around the pond and at the base of the hill already had the locations of a path laid out and were mostly planted, thanks to the generosity of the inmates' contacts on the outside. Already, the art students were finding unobtrusive places around it to sit and sketch.

Heavy sledge hammers to pound in the stakes holding the retaining walk were in short supply, and since they weren't always used by the most experienced members of the crew, Kenshin and Daisuke walked over to the shed after kendo practice one afternoon to replace the handles on two that had particularly suffered in the hands of the novices. Luckily, the generosity of those outside included a supply of spare handles for virtually every tool in the shed, but even so, they made each one last as long as possible, as long as it was safe. These two had the look of bones gnawed by hungry wolves, and Kenshin had taken one look at them when they were brought in and declared them off-limits until they were fixed.

The work went quickly enough, but it meant they were running later than usually for dinner. Hiroki, seated next to his father, was keeping an eye out for them and waved when their line finally snaked into the building, letting them know where the families were. The two gardeners waved back.

"He must have already hit another mess hall before he came here," Daisuke observed. "He's actually chewing before he swallows."

Kenshin chuckled. "He's got hollow legs, all right. I've noticed, though, that you can keep up with him." It was no secret that most of the teenagers and many of the smaller unsupervised children doubled up on meals by traveling from hall to hall.

"Yeah, well the portions are kinda small. I may have to chow this down fast and see if I can hit another mess hall before they shut down for the night. Only problem is, I have to eat fast without looking like I'm eating fast or Mom'll have a fit."

"She is a bit of a stickler for table manners, isn't she?" Kenshin gestured at the counter ahead of them, which was showing a distressing amount of near-empty pans in front of the bored servers. "Looks like we're at the end of the run. With luck, there will be more coming, but I'm hoping it's your luck we're working on. Mine has never been real good when it comes to large quantities of food available."

Daisuke glanced back towards the doors. "Still a lot of people waiting…yes! We lucked out." A couple kitchen workers had arrived to swap empty pans for full ones.

"As long as it's not liver again. After getting that for fourteen days in a row, I was about ready to set mouse traps just to eat something different," Kenshin said, half-seriously. That culinary disaster, recently ended, had almost caused a riot in the camp.

It was meatloaf, they discovered, which was bland but at least edible. Daisuke stopped at the big jug at the end of the counter to drown his in ketchup, so Kenshin arrived at the table first, taking a place on Kisho's other side. He'd just sat down when he felt that malicious spike of ki. Of course he'd known Hosokawa was in the building – they couldn't exactly avoid each other and within a certain range, Immortals always knew where other Immortals were – but he'd done his best to ignore the man whenever and wherever possible. He hoped the other Immortal would just walk past, and he did, at first. Then he turned back.

"So I hear you ruined a perfectly good roast by leaving it in the oven until it was ashes. Too bad; it could have been more useful here."

The man's voice was so perfectly reasonable that there was a stunned silence as the adults and teenagers processed just what, exactly, he'd said.

Masumi turned white and cried out, her face a mask of hurt and horror. She leapt to her feet and ran for the door, pushing through the crowd that was lined up to clean their plates and utensils at the basins provided. Yuki gave Hosokawa a scorching look, but for once didn't give her tongue free rein. Instead, she told Cho and Tatsuya to stay with her husband and then followed Masumi's path. The two children simply looked confused. Tatsuya held a piece of bread halfway to his mouth apparently trying to decide if his mother's abrupt disappearance was something he needed to be vocal about while Cho's brow was crinkled in thought, trying to puzzle out what the mean man had said.

Kenshin was half off the bench with Kisho's hand holding him down by the shoulder and Daisuke, who had just arrived, pressed behind him. The quarters were too close for any kind of fight, but the teenager was prepared to fling his tray in an opening volley if necessary. Kisho's other hand had a similar grip on Hiroki's shoulder, and Daisuke's position blocked his brother from doing anything rash even if he could get away.

"Your barb missed the mark," Kenshin snarled. "It's supposed to be at me, remember?"

"On the contrary, that was two for one; you and your little whore," Hosokawa said lightly, buffing the nails of his free hand on his shirt sleeve and then examining them. "It worked so well. I'll have to remember that."

"Remember to dig your own grave first so we'll only have to sweep your sorry remains into it."

Hosokawa laughed. "Well so far, I've had nothing to worry about, but this shows promise. Maybe I'll work you up to it after all." He waved his hand an continued towards the door.

It was still several minutes before Kisho let up on the shoulders he was holding. Kenshin took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax as the realization set in of how close he'd come to truly losing his temper.

"What a jerk-face!" Hiroki exclaimed as Daisuke set his tray on the table and stepped over the bench to sit down.

"No kidding. I was afraid you were going to go after him, Mr. Niitsu."

"Me, too," Kisho said, looking between his younger son on one side and his friend on the other, considering. "You two are more alike than I'd thought."

Kenshin shook his head and applied himself to his rapidly cooling dinner. "I've just got to remember he's not worth it. I don't know what his problem is, but he's not worth it."

"No, you'd get in bad trouble if you started a fight in here." Kisho stared towards the door.

They finished the meal in silence, trying to get it over with as fast as possible, and then walked back towards their barrack together, Cho and Tatsuya hanging on to Kenshin's hands. He was ready to push them towards Kisho if necessary and kept his senses open and searching for an attack, but there was nothing there and the others didn't notice his silence.

At the stall, he could hear Masumi's low sobs and Yuki's soothing voice, and he ushered the children through a quiet game of catch before helping them with bedtime preparations. He put Cho on his cot so they wouldn't disturb the older women in the back. He knew he'd get no sleep this night. He desperately wanted to practice his kata, to find the center of calm and balance he knew existed there, but there was nowhere in camp to do it without being seen. Not only could he not risk his cover story, but at the moment, it was possible that Hosokawa had no idea of what his sword style or ability was like. That was something he wanted to keep hidden unless and until it was absolutely necessary.

Kenshin sat on the walkway, carving another animal, working over the puzzle that was Hosokawa. The man knew his nickname of the Bakumatsu and knew that it applied to the man calling himself Tom Niitsu, but what did he really know? Battousai's reputation as the strongest warrior of the patriot forces, but what else? Obviously he hadn't been paying attention to the Immortal rumor-mill or he'd be aware that the man known as Battousai didn't play The Game. Or at least, that he didn't play by the established rules. He knew Duncan and Fitz had been astonished when he didn't permanently kill another Immortal who had challenged him late one night at the racetrack in Newmarket shortly after they'd met, and he hadn't allowed his two new friends to take the man's Quickening, either. They'd warned him to watch his back and made all kinds of dire predictions, but the man had never returned. Kenshin had used the same technique then as now: put the would-be opponent off indefinitely in the hope he'd just go away. It had worked before. When he did have to fight, it was with just enough of his strength and skill to show his opponent that messing with the short, red-haired Japanese guy was a really bad idea. Hosokawa, however, was either a slow-learner or the fact that they were cooped up behind a fence was ruining his judgment.

Kenshin turned the wood in his hands, roughing out the long ears and lanky body of a jackrabbit, and wished for the hundredth time that evening that he could practice with a much longer blade.

xxxxxx

Tatsuya was having a meltdown. Masumi had taken him to the garden in the center of the track where Tom and about two dozen other men were working, planting flowers and placing rocks or interesting pieces of stumps. The two visitors had watched some of the men haul pea-sized gravel in buckets to surface the paths while others brought water for the flowers. Tom was one of the water haulers, and they had followed him back to the horse trough where Daisuke was vigorously pumping in more water from an underground well. Tatsuya found the pump and the trough fascinating – much more fun than playing in the laundry sink – so when his mother suggested they get the laundry so they could stand in line and wait for a tub, he refused.

"No! Do clo'se here," he said.

"We can't wash clothes here. This water is for the garden. It can't have soap in it," Masumi explained patiently. "We need a table and a wringer, too. We have to do laundry in the laundry building, so we have to stand in line and wait our turn."

"No! No line! Wanna play inna water here."

"Tatsuya, you're in the way here. See all these men wanting water for the flowers? Come with me so they can take care of the plants and we can get laundry done."

Kenshin watched but didn't say anything while he waited to fill his buckets. Superimposed over the scene was a memory of Kaoru trying to persuade Kenji into doing something he hadn't wanted to do, with about as much success. The difference, he realized, was that Kaoru had been a little more forceful and much less stressed. She hadn't had her husband torn away from her, been imprisoned with her children, or recently lost a child. For all that she often managed a serene surface, Masumi was rapidly reaching the end of her ability to cope. At the head of the bucket line now, Kenshin waded into the verbal fray.

"Tatsuya, stop arguing and go with your mother."

The little boy turned to look at him and glared out of hostile brown eyes that suddenly reminded him of Sanosuke. "No! An' you not my daddy! I hate you!"

In Kenshin's mind echoed Kenji's toddler voice saying "I hate you!" and the hurt he'd felt. He hadn't had the experience then to know that 'I hate you' was one of those easy phrases that toddlers knew would get a reaction that usually resulted in the toddler doing what he wanted. Kenshin wasn't hurt this time, but he was mad. He'd let Kaoru handle Kenji's tantrums, and Kenji had never respected him much in either the toddler or teen years, though they'd gotten along well in between. This time would be different.

"You're right, I'm not your daddy, 'cause he wouldn't do this," Kenshin said, one eyebrow rising beneath his bangs. Without further ado, he dropped the buckets, picked up Tatsuya under one arm and a knee, and dropped him into the horse trough. As Daisuke and the other men jumped back to avoid the splash and Masumi stepped forward to rescue her son, Kenshin was already pulling him out of the water again. He set the boy on his feet, crouched down to his level and put his finger about two inches from surprised chocolate eyes, shaking it for emphasis.

"You…Will…Not…talk to your elders like that again. Everyone in the barrack is tired of your behavior and your attitude. Your temper is an embarrassment to your family and your stubbornness keeps your mother from doing things she has to do to take of you and your sister. I know that you are not normally that selfish or that rude, but not everyone does. I want them all to like you as much as I do, but it's not going to happen if you keep acting like this. You'd better straighten up, and you'd better do it quick. You got that?"

Tatsuya nodded his head silently, unnerved by this stern Uncle Tom whose eyes flashed yellow.

"Then you get over there and apologize to your mother for your poor behavior. And you do what she asks when she asks it, 'cause if I have to remind you about your manners again, you will be looking at the bottom of a horse trough again. Go on." He pointed to Masumi and Tatsuya bolted for her.

"I sowwy, Mama, I sowwy." He wrapped his arms around her leg and peered upwards, big brown eyes pleading with her to forgive him. His usually spiky hair was plastered to his head and a mud puddle was forming about their feet as his clothes dripped. A drop of water traced a path down his nose.

All Masumi wanted to do was pick him up, hug him, and reassure him that he'd never be rid of her, but she instinctively knew that would be a mistake. She had to present a united front with Tom in disciplining the children, and while she certainly wouldn't have used his methods, she had to back him up.

"I forgive you," she said gently. "But you must remember to do what we say. That's very important, so you'd better thank Uncle Tom for reminding you. You won't forget again, will you?"

"No. T'ank you, Unca Tom." Tatsuya turned around to face Kenshin, but kept his back pressed against his mother's legs. The yellow had faded from Uncle Tom's eyes and he didn't look quite so scary anymore, but he was still next to the horse trough.

"You're welcome," Kenshin said gravely.

"And also thank Uncle Tom for making more laundry for us. We need to keep busy," Masumi said, a twinkle returning to her eye. It was the first Kenshin had seen since Shinta died.

"T'ank you, Unca Tom. We busy."

Kenshin gave Masumi an apologetic look, but his words were for Tatsuya. "You're welcome for that, too. I like you busy. Your mother is busy enough."

He turned back to his buckets as they left, noting that all the other men had already started back to the garden and only Daisuke was left, waiting for him to fill his buckets before starting to pump again. The teenager's face was studiously blank. He knew none of them would say anything about the incident in front of him, but the story would get around. In fact, by the time he returned to the garden, he knew the ones ahead of him had already told the story to those doing the planting. He was already starting to feel bad about it.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to apologize for that display of bad temper," he said. Really, he should have had much more control. Tatsuya was only two, after all.

One of the men, who had been in the bucket line and looked to be about fifty, glanced up from the water he was ladling over a newly-planted lily. "That's okay. He's young; he'll learn."

Kenshin stared at him dumbly, and then started to chuckle. "No, I meant _my_ bad temper."

Another man, in his seventies and as lean as the rake he carried, patted him on the shoulder. "You're young, too. You'll learn."

xxxxxx

It was late when the children were finally in bed, the laundry put away, and Masumi came out of the stall to sit on the edge of the raised walkway. Kenshin was sitting against the wall, knife and wooden rabbit in his hands, whittling in the light that shone next to the door. She didn't say anything, just swung her feet and looked up at the crescent moon and the Milky Way. Light pollution from the city and the guard towers made only the brightest stars visible. Kenshin spoke first.

"Sorry about earlier. I made more work for you."

"Not so much. Wash them today or wash them tomorrow, makes no difference. I just stripped him down and let him stomp all over the clothes while they were in the tub. He got a bath, the clothes got clean…it all worked out. The standing in line is the worst. He was almost dry before we even got a tub. But standing happens whether he looks like a drowned rat or not."

Kenshin winced inwardly. "I wouldn't have let him drown, you know."

"I know."

"That was just a bit of the Hiko Seijuro school of child-rearing coming to the fore."

Masumi twisted to look back at him, her face a question.

"He was one of my teachers when I was younger. The discipline was immediate and sometimes a little…harsh. But he never drowned me, either. Something about getting dowsed in cold water really cools the temper." He glanced up from his carving, his smile a little twisted and wry.

"So long as you don't harm him. He's the only son I have." She looked toward the dark ground, mouth down-turned and sad. "Although I'm glad you stepped in. I really didn't know what else to do with him. He's always been temperamental, but it seems to have gotten worse."

"His whole world is shaken up. He has to find the boundaries again. He'll be okay. I'm actually a little more worried about Cho. She's not acting out; she's withdrawing, and that's not good."

"I've noticed, too. I hope they get a regular school going soon, like they said they would. She needs something to force her out with people, and she's always liked school. The art classes aren't enough. In the last couple weeks I almost have to force her out to play. If she's not going to class with you, she's almost attached to my hip."

"I've noticed." He didn't need to tell her that a lot of Cho's original pictures – any time the subject wasn't determined by their teacher - featured barbed wire, guard towers, and soldiers with guns. Ugly square buildings with people standing in lines near them were also a common feature. "I can't get her interested in the garden here, either, even though we've gotten lots of plants from the outside."

"She doesn't seem to know what to say when the Andersons and Brookses visit. What can she say? Her friends aren't allowed to come visit, and it's certainly not like she can send them letters about how much fun she's having. I could tell it was very awkward between them…at the funeral."

"That's what she said."

They were silent for a while, Masumi staring at the moon and Kenshin whittling. Around them was the murmur of other voices and the occasional bang of a door. Every now and then, one of the spotlights from the nearby guard tower swept over them, blinding in its intensity.

"So what did your teacher teach that got you wet?" Masumi asked.

Kenshin didn't pause in his carving. "A lot of science-related stuff, though more of a practical nature than theoretical. Physics, earth science, and he was one of the sports coaches. Had the class out in all kinds of weather, and wasn't adverse to knocking his students into the creek to demonstrate things like gravity and how every action has an equal and opposite reaction." His eyes were twinkling when he glanced up at her. "Especially if you weren't applying yourself to what he knew was your full potential."

"I thought American teachers were more lenient. He sounds like some of the Japanese teachers my brother went to. He went through several."

"He was old-school Japanese, all right." Kenshin smiled. "But he was a good teacher, and a good man," he added fondly.

"But he couldn't keep you out of trouble? Sasuke said you fought a lot when you were younger."

"It wasn't his fault. Nobody could keep me out of trouble when I was hell-bent on going there. I had to learn to stay out of it on my own." His smile turned cynical. "It's part of being young and dumb."

xxxxxx

Masumi's wishes about school were answered a week later when notices went up around the camp. High school classes would be held in the big room under the grandstand where pari-mutuel bets used to be made; elementary school classes were in newly-built barracks that had been meant to be mess halls. Most of the classes were big; the teachers were all Nisei of college age or older, but there weren't enough or enough room for smaller classes.

Masumi and Cho decided to go after breakfast one day soon after the notices were posted, to ensure Cho got into classes. That meant Tatsuya, who had been keeping his distance from Kenshin since the horse trough episode, was going to have to spend some time alone with his "uncle".

"Wanna come wif you," he said rebelliously, as Masumi ushered both children out of the stall and down the walkway.

"You can't this time. Cho and I need to see about getting her into school. You get to stay with Uncle Tom. Maybe he'll put down his sketchbook and play with you," Masumi said.

"I can go school, Mama," he offered, but Masumi shook her head.

"You're not old enough yet. In a couple years, maybe." She pushed him toward Kenshin and, taking Cho's hand, the two ladies of the family turned the corner and disappeared from the little boy's view.

Kenshin was sitting on the lounge with his sketchbook on his knees, and he looked up as Tatsuya hesitantly approached.

"Joining me today, huh?"

Tatsuya nodded silently, but he was giving Kenshin the kind of look he'd give a nest of vipers, as if he wasn't sure when he was going to be attacked. Kenshin remembered similar looks from his early days as an assassin. The men had never been sure of his stability and some had only gradually accepted him after he left the duties of shadow warrior and came into the open. Many had never come around, and he had never pushed the point.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the wooden rabbit, holding it out to the boy in much the same manner he's offer an apple to a horse.

"I just finished this for you last night," he said.

Tatsuya stared at it and then hesitantly picked up the peace offering, turning it around to examine it. It was sitting semi-erect with its nose pointed up, like it was sniffing something. One long ear was flat on its back, the other lifted slightly above it, and its whole posture suggested it was ready to run in an instant. Tatsuya's fingers stroked down the ears and then he turned it over to look at the big feet with their pads and claws and the hair between the toes neatly detailed.

"Rabbits are very fast when they run, and their big ears mean they have the best hearing in the woods. You know what the Indians say?" Kenshin asked.

Tatsuya shook his head.

"If anything happens in the wild, the hawk sees it, the rabbit hears it, and the bear smells it. That's because each of those animals is best at those things."

"No bear now."

"No, not now, but you never know. I might find another bear in the wood. I still have a lot left, and I never know who is in there until I start to look. Maybe there's a hawk, too."

Tatsuya finally looked up at him, staring into Kenshin's violet eyes as if he was searching for something.

"Are you still afraid of me?" Kenshin set the sketchbook aside and swung his feet over to the ground. Tatsuya took a quick step backwards, and Kenshin stopped moving immediately. "Aw, Tatsu-chan, I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world. You don't need to be afraid of me. I was bad the other day. I went and yelled at you about your temper and all the time I was showing mine. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

He spread his hands wide, palms up, in a universal gesture of supplication. After a moment's hesitation, Tatsuya walked into him for a hug, which was instantly given unstintingly.

"Thank you, I needed that," Kenshin said against the disheveled black hair.

"Eyes're yellow," Tatsuya said.

"They were? I've heard they do that. I can't see them, though. Every time I get around to looking in a mirror, I'm not mad anymore."

Tatsuya pulled back from the hug enough to look at him and smile. Then his expression changed to puzzlement and he lifted a hand and with one finger traced a faint white line from the outside corner of Kenshin's left eye almost to his chin.

"You got hurted?"

"A long time ago."

"Inna fight?"

"Yep."

"Wif sam'rai?" In Tatsuya's mind, only samurai fought anybody. Well, maybe Indians, too, but they only fought cowboys.

"Who else?" Kenshin asked lightly.

The little boy's finger traced another faint line between the inside corner of Kenshin's eye and the hinge of his jaw.

"You gotta nudder cut here."

"That was an accident."

"Hurt lots?"

"Like fire, but not anymore. Not for a long time."

Tatsuya leaned forward and placed a wet kiss on the lean cheek where the two lines crossed.

"All better now, Mama says."

Kenshin found himself grinning like a fool. He didn't mind in the least.

"Yep, all better forever. You work magic." He hugged the boy again and then set him back a step so he could pick up his sketchbook.

"You remember our silly samurai, with his thumb in his mouth? I drew another." He turned the book so Tatsuya could see it. It was the same man standing and glaring out of the page in a manner that would make raw recruits faint. He was in pretty much the same outfit as before, although it wasn't finished yet and was lacking some of the details of the earlier picture. What clearly showed were the bunny slippers on the man's feet, with bright button eyes and floppy ears. Tatsuya immediately broke down into the kind of abandoned giggles that only small children could do.

"I must have rabbit on the brain," Kenshin said grinning. The Wolf would think he had something else on the brain, or no brains at all. Maybe even make an offer to excise what few brains he had left with a _gotatsu_. The fact that it couldn't ever happen made it more fun. The worst he could do would be to show up in that light-filled, cloudy place that Kenshin thought of as Nirvana's waiting room the next time Kenshin died and call him '_ahou_'. Then Kenshin could laugh and disappear back into life. No one ever said being Immortal couldn't be fun.

xxxxxx

Cho went to school willingly on the first day, but came home disappointed. Masumi was making a shirt for Sasuke from material Karen Anderson had brought on her last visit and Kenshin was obligingly acting as a tailor's mannequin, wearing the shirt over his undershirt while Masumi fussed and twitched at it. It was a size big for him and he didn't see how draping it over him would help, but he let her fuss because at least she was busy.

"There's nothing there," Cho said, when Masumi asked. "There's no chalkboard or books or paper…there's not even any furniture. We sat on the floor and the teacher read to us and asked us questions. We had to do the math out loud, and spelling, and everything."

Kenshin and Masumi exchanged looks and then Kenshin said, "Well, look at the bright side."

"There is no bright side," Cho muttered.

"Sure there is: no homework."

Cho glared at him and then stalked out of the stall, heading down the stable row to the far end.

"Nice try," Masumi said.

"Hn. I think I need to have a little talk with Miss Cho. Excuse me for a few," Kenshin said. He shrugged out of the shirt and handed it to her, picking up the chambray one he been wearing before his mannequin imitation and pulling it on as he went out the door.

He caught up with her by the time she was passing Miné's stall at the end of the building. Neither said anything until they'd ducked under the rail and walked down the track a little ways. Then Kenshin brought her to a halt by tugging on her ponytail.

"That was kinda rude, you know."

"What?"

"Glaring at me like that when I was trying to make you feel better."

"Nothing will make me feel better. I hate this place. And I hate the war and I hate the Japanese and I hate everything."

"Whoa. That's a pretty long list. What do you love?"

"What?"

"You keep asking me that. What do you love?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Kenshin sighed and leaned over the rail, pulling up a long, stiff stalk from a nearby weed. He drew a yin-yang symbol into the dirt of the track. "You know what that means?"

"Harmony."

"What makes harmony?"

"Getting along with people."

"Harmony in the household, yes, but that's not what I mean. Try a different word."

"I don't know what you want, Uncle Tom. You always ask weird questions but I never know what you want." She was just about stamping her feet in frustration and anger.

"Cho, I want you to use your head for something other than holding your ponytail up," Kenshin said patiently. "Think about what you've been taught about that symbol. Every Asian country uses some form of it, and it means pretty much the same in every one. What does it mean besides harmony?"

"Light-dark, hot-cold, good-bad…"

"Yes. And what do those things do to each other?"

"Balance."

"Yes, balance. Every moment of your life, you're balancing. Most of the time, you don't even know it, but it's good to be aware of it. Last year, life was pretty good, wasn't it? New house, a yard to play in, new school, new friends. Now that's all gone and you have this – a horse stall and lining up to do anything and everything that needs doing and not being able to do some of the things you want to. Pretty bad. But life is like that. Usually not so drastic, but sometimes it is. Some people let the bad stuff get them down. They're grumpy and unpleasant, and they use it as an excuse not to do anything at all, ever. I don't think that's any way to live. Who wants to be around a grumpy person all the time? You've got to find the good stuff, the things that make you happy. Why do you think I ask you, whenever we have dinner together, what it is that you're grateful for and what you see or hear that's beautiful? It's to remind you that those things are out there, and to make you look for them so you have something to say when I ask. Because if you're looking for them, whether it's a perfect flower, or a sunset, or the little kids falling over each other in a game, you can find the good in that and hold it in your heart so the bad things don't seem quite so bad. You store them up inside and you keep your balance. You getting this or am I talking to the wind?"

"I think I'm getting it."

"So you told me what you hate; what do you love?"

She looked down at her toes, scraping at the surface of the track and building tiny mountain ranges in the dirt.

"Mama. And Tatsu-chan and Daddy."

"Uh huh."

"Going to art class with you. Walking past the garden." Every short sentence seemed to be dragged out of her as she thought it. "Mr. Fitz visiting because he's so funny and he brings candy. The letters that Mrs. Brooks and Mrs. Anderson bring."

"See? There is good stuff. Think about the first time you met Lee and Amy and Maria. Was it a little scary? Especially with Maria because she was hard to talk to, wasn't she?"

Cho nodded. "She didn't speak English hardly at all."

"But you stuck with her, didn't you, because you found out she was a nice person once you got to know her. That's the way it is with a lot of things, Cho. You have to get past the scary beginning to find out if the rest is going to be any good, but you haven't been doing that. You just get all discouraged and then you don't want to try. This is your challenge: find the good things here. Learn as much as you can. And when you get out, do good things that make you and the people around you happy. Cancel out this ugliness. Okay?"

"Okay." She still looked a little dubious.

"I've got a place you can start."

"Where?"

"Come play baseball with me. They're still working on that father-daughter league and I'd like to play ball with you."

"But I don't like baseball."

"But what's good about it?"

She thought to say 'nothing' but she knew Uncle Tom wouldn't agree with that. She started walking down the track, away from the barrack, and Kenshin followed. "Ummm, exercise?"

"That's good. What else?"

"You'll be there."

"What else?"

"I don't know!"

"Meet some other girls, maybe make some new friends and re-make old ones. Didn't you know some of these girls in Japantown? Now you'll have twice as many friends – the ones in camp and the ones outside. That's good, right?"

"Okay. But I don't really know how to play."

"That's what you've got me for."

"Uncle Tom?"

"Hm?"

"If I play baseball with you, will you go to Japanese language class with me?"

Kenshin smiled. "Sure I will. We're going to have to re-arrange our schedule, though. You'll have school, then we'll have baseball, kendo, and Japanese. That's some pretty full days."

"Language class is on Saturday mornings, but not the rest of the week, and they worked the art class into our school schedule: Tuesdays and Thursdays right after lunch."

"We'll have to see how often they've scheduled baseball practice. I'm sure it'll be right after school. Then we'll work in kendo, although I may have to split up the adults and those of you in school."

Cho made a face. "It's more fun with everyone together."

"Yeah, because you're copying what the higher ranks do, aren't you?" Kenshin asked knowingly.

"Ummm…"

"You think I didn't notice you're doing moves you weren't doing before?"

Cho stopped walking and faced him, hands on her hips. "You don't do kendo; how could you know?"

Kenshin stopped, too, and grinned at her. "I don't need to know what you're doing; I just know it's different. When I ask everyone to do their highest form, you used to do the one that starts with stepping back and blocking, but now you do the one that starts with three strikes to the head moving forward. It's pretty obvious you're doing a different one, even if I don't know which one it is. It's the same one Hiroki is doing."

Cho stared at the ground for a moment and then up at him through long black lashes. "Are you going to tell my dad?"

It was everything Kenshin could do to keep from laughing outright. Hikari had been practicing that look when he'd left for China. Kaoru had always been too straightforward to play flirting games, but he suspected Tae had been giving Hikari lessons on feminine wiles. It was scary that Cho seemed to be picking it up at a younger age.

"That depends," he replied, keeping his face straight.

"On what?"

"On how good all your kendo looks by the time we see him again. And how much lip you give me about playing baseball."

Cho's expression changed swiftly from a grin of delight at the tacit approval to a moue of disappointment and she blew her breath out sharply, huffing her bangs away from her forehead.

Kenshin laughed and flattened them back down until she backed away from his hand. "Balance, child," he said, and beckoned her to follow him back to the barrack. "Come on, we have to get ready for kendo, and it doesn't show well for us to be late."

Cho nodded and followed along, not with her usual energy, but at least not as angry or frustrated as when she left.

xxxxxx

_My, these chapters just keep getting longer. Hopefully that will make up for the amount of time between them._

_Hey, happy news: "Caged" has been nominated and seconded for a "work in progress" award on the dotmoon Universal Fanfiction Open Awards. I'm tickled someone thought enough of this to nominate it. Thanks to whomever nominated it, and I'll try to keep justifying your trust in my writing skills. I also have a oneshot that has been nominated and seconded in the RK category. I don't know when voting will start. Check 'em out at triple w (dot) dotmoon (dot) net (slash) awards. And yes, that is a shameless plug!_

_Glossary:_

_Gomennasai – I'm sorry_

_Issei – 1__st__ generation – born in Japan_

_Nissei – 2__nd__ generation – born in US_

_Bakumatsu – the Japanese Revolution of 1863-1869_

_Kata – form, a set pattern of moves done to improve concentration and perfect skills_

_Quickening – the energy released by beheading an Immortal, usually absorbed by the killer. It conveys every thing the deceased was and knew._

_Gotatsu – a super-fast single thrust with a sword intended to precede any move the victim can make to attack or defend._

_Ahou – idiot, particularly insulting for one from Tokyo (as I understand it)._

_Baka - also idiot, but particularly insulting for one from Kyoto (same disclaimer as above)_

_The Game - Immortals fighting Immortals until there is only one left, who gets "The Prize", but no one really knows what that is._


	16. Chapter 16

_All the usual standard disclaimers apply. _

Chapter 16 – News and Memories

July 1942

"Well, I see you managed to escape," Kisho said as he came out of the darkness and up the boardwalk, a newspaper tucked under his arm.

"Escape what?" Kenshin asked, glancing up from the repair he was making in the shoulder seam of one of his shirts.

"Yuki said she was going to haul you off to the dance tonight and introduce you to some women. She said the boys know more women than you do." Kisho sat down and leaned against the wall a few feet away.

"I know a lot of women. How can I not? There's a three to one ratio here." He'd had a hard time convincing Masumi to go with Yuki instead while he watched the children. Spending most of her time in the stall left her too much time for brooding and the fumes from the horse manure weren't good for her health. He knew she thought going to a dance was too frivolous, that it was somehow disrespectful to Shinta, but he'd argued that she was there to chaperone, not dance. Yuki had walked in on the middle of the argument and, surprisingly, had thrown her weight on Kenshin's side. Obviously, getting her friend out of the stall and back into community life held more importance than getting 'Tom' a wife, for which he was grateful. He'd had far more fun playing with the kids than he would have had at a dance. Since the evening was now well advanced, Cho and Tatsuya were fast asleep in the stall.

"But you don't date any of them. She thinks that's weird. I told her that's your business." Kisho shook out the paper – the _Tanforan Totalizer _– but Kenshin knew he wasn't reading it. Kisho always frowned as he sounded out the English words in his head and he wasn't frowning yet.

"Don't have to date any if I'm not interested. Most of them are too…flighty." He'd almost said too young, but that wouldn't have made any sense to Kisho. "Besides, the dances are too crowded and too noisy."

"Too much dancing around here anyway. It's almost every night. The kids are just using it as a way to escape all this. Daisuke told me he sits in the front row in his classes and he can still barely hear what's going on. All the kids behind him are talking, passing notes, and razzing the kids in the class next to them."

"Sounds as bad as elementary school. Cho said some of the kids refuse to speak English and the teacher can't control the class. If Masumi wasn't helping her in math, she wouldn't make it."

"The teachers are mostly too young to be very good at teaching. They don't have the confidence of an older teacher, they don't command any respect, and they don't know the subjects well enough to teach without any tools."

"Time will cure that. If they survive," Kenshin said. "It strikes me that a lot of them are the ones dancing."

"That's why you need to start dating them. You've got more stick-to-it than anybody I've ever seen, and it'll steady them down. Well, the women, anyway." Kisho flicked the unread page aside a peered around it. "Unless there's something you're not telling me."

"No, I don't go that way. I just don't need a woman around to take care of me; I've been on my own for a while."

"I can see. You sew, you cook, and rumor has it you'd do your own laundry if the ladies would let you. You'll make someone a fine wife some day."

"Ha ha. At least the laundry has hot water now. How did the meeting go?"

"About what you'd expect. Mostly we kept quiet and let Ikeda do the talking. It was a bit hard to follow sometimes, since it was mostly in English. Sometimes I can't translate it in my head as fast as they speak it. We'd like the assembly to be the legislative body and hold the power, but Fujita says that doesn't give the councilmen anything to do and they might take the administrative tasks away from the house managers. Since he is one, doesn't make it much of a stretch to see where he's coming from. Katayama was the only one who spoke in Japanese, but he was just polishing his own sword as usual so that didn't add much. Although he did call all of us – Nisei included – 'Japanese' and the Caucasian staff 'Americans' and that was making some of those Nisei college boys real mad. They were the best of the lot when it came to speaking. They had outlines written up that they made suggestions from. They want a constitution written for in the camp. But if the assembly write one, the army will have their fingers all in it and it won't amount to anything."

"Probably not, but a little practical experience in the political process is good for them."

"I told you, Tom, you should have run for office. You're a citizen and you're old enough to have some sense." Kisho was very interested in camp politics and had been sorely disappointed when the edict had come down that only citizens could run for political office as the camp's inmates set up a government under the watchful eyes of the army.

"Having sense isn't a matter of age," Kenshin said mildly.

"But you've got a longer family history of being American. You understand it better and you're not hanging between two countries like most of those kids are. Wanting to be fully American on one hand and dealing with parental expectations and Japanese traditions on the other."

"Every group of immigrants goes through that. My father did. He didn't feel compelled to run for office." They'd had several arguments over this and Kenshin didn't really feel like having another. He refused to take part in any form of governance, but he couldn't tell Kisho the real reasons. Even to his own ears, some of his excuses sounded lame.

Kisho made a rude noise between his lips and buried his head in the paper, a crease appearing between his eyes as he actually started reading.

Kenshin finished the shirt and folded it neatly, setting it aside and picking up a pair of Tatsuya's pants. A rip gaped across one knee and Kenshin felt next to his hip for the pile of scraps Masumi had given him. They were from the baseball uniforms she and the other ladies had made the week before, and the navy pinstriping on the grey material matched the denim of the pants well. Yuki said they'd have been better off choosing a material in brown or green, judging by the laundry after the games.

"You see this?" Kisho tapped the page. "They're opening the restricted areas to Germans and Italians again. The power plants and docks and what-all. Now we're out of the way, the threat is past. That's what DeWitt said. Even though the radio reported they caught five German spies and their American-born allies in Florida the other week. Hiroki calls him 'General Lack-Witt', which I suppose I should yell at him for, but somehow I just can't."

"I saw it. Heard about it, too. There was a bunch of liberals shouting and picketing around the mess hall at noon, about how moving us out was purely based on race. Like nobody knew that."

"Yeah, they were there when I ate, too. Your friend Hosokawa was right in the thick of it."

"He's not my friend. I'm not surprised he was there. He seems to be taking on the role of political protester."

"I don't like the guy, but I understand that," Kisho said. "If you can't be part of the political process, you might as well protest it. He was working with those groups that got the boots for the maintenance workers and got the mess halls organized, so he has done some good. The food is way better than it was. I think he was angling for a position on the assembly but he couldn't get the votes. Irritated too many Issei. Still, he's not far off in saying the administration is run by a bunch of idiots. I can't help but think that maybe if we'd protested more at the beginning, especially the Nisei, that maybe this all wouldn't have happened. Look at the mess they're making of the hospital. They've finally allowed the internee doctors, nurses, and students to work there, but the administration isn't giving them the support or study time they need. How does that help anyone? I thought they'd make it better after little Shinta died."

"It's a little better than it was before. Dr. Goodrich has some help, anyway." Kenshin was glad for that. Extra help wouldn't have saved Shinta, perhaps, but maybe his condition would have been taken seriously earlier and his few weeks might have been easier for him. The hospital was an obvious sore point for the Niitsu-Himura clan and many of their close friends.

"In any case, protesting earlier would have gotten us nowhere," Kenshin continued. "The government's as much as said that once it declares war, a citizens' rights go out the window. And since none of you Issei are citizens, they're really not going to listen to you. I'd say that a time of war is a time when we should be even more diligent about upholding the Constitution and The Bill of Rights, but that's not going to hold any water with the lot in power. They've already said Hirabayashi and Yasui didn't have any discretion when it came to following the evacuation order – they should have followed it, and now they're in jail because they didn't. Korematsu is still pending on his claim that internment is unconstitutional, but he'll be lucky if he even comes to trial, much less gets a jury of his peers. His jury is likely to be military and a bunch of old white guys. You know how they're going to go."

"You're probably right. I just wish they'd thought this through a little better and treated us like people and not like animals. Had some basic services and decent housing ready. I mean, look: you work all your life to get a decent home, put your kids through school, maybe have a chance to enjoy life a bit and they take it all away from you and make you live in a horse stall just because you look like the enemy. They finally start getting some of the services going and then they get rid of all the Japanese language newspapers and signs… With all the new buildings going up, I've never seen so many people looking so lost, and there's no way for any of the Issei to get news if they can't read English or don't have a radio. It's all a pattern of building things up and taking other things away. I will bet you that they'll let the assembly build that constitution and then they'll nix that, too."

It was hardly something Kenshin could argue with. He'd spent a lot of time helping people find their way after the language ban went into effect, and the rumors flying around the camp multiplied on an hourly basis. He found some of them amusing – many of the old superstitions had traveled from Japan with the Issei and were being trotted out with any strange occurrence in camp. It had been a long time since he'd heard them and they brought back memories of a much simpler time. It also reminded him that although the times had changed, people hadn't. The less benign rumors were getting people agitated and protests were becoming a daily occurrence.

"I'm surprised Davis let the kids print this. Word is, he double checks every article for forbidden text." Kisho tapped the article about DeWitt.

"And the McQueen goes over it, too," Kenshin said. "The army catches what the civilian editor doesn't."

"Which makes me surprised we get any real news at all. If those kids on the staff gave up, the _Totalizer_ would be just another gossip paper, like all the others." Kisho sighed and turned a page. "That meeting's put me late on my reading. I'll never get this done by morning and then the guys at the wood shop will peel me for not giving them all the news."

August 1942

Cho walked home from school alone, picking her way around the scores of new barracks that had gone up in the last month and a half. The infield was now two-thirds full of barracks in neat rows, leaving space only for the baseball field at the south end and the garden along the backstretch. None of the building efforts had marred the track. It was obvious that there was still hope that horses would race there again someday. That was where they practiced kendo and Uncle Tom ran every morning, she knew, with the high school's track team following and gamely trying to keep up.

Her school was one of the new buildings, so she didn't have to walk as far as she had when school had first opened. The class was smaller, too, and had tables to work at, books donated from the local school systems, and supplies that were donated also. She thought, perhaps, that Uncle Tom had been right: that the benefit of no books or papers meant no homework. Now she had all three, and Masumi had sewn a tote bag out of pieces of their worn-out pants so she could carry it all. She liked the bag, a patchwork of pink corduroy from her old dungarees, grey wool from Masumi's trousers, and blue denim from Tatsuya's and Uncle Tom's jeans. Some of the pieces had been cut into diamond shapes and sewn together to look like stars; others were triangles and squares used to fill out the areas between the stars. The two straps that she used to hang it off her shoulder were made of denim, and the lining inside was flannel from one of Uncle Tom's shirts.

The area between the buildings was cut with ditches that contained the pipes that carried water into the latrines and laundries and took the wastewater out. They were constantly clogging through a combination of detritus washing down the drains and not enough pitch to get them into a sewer system that hadn't been built to carry the load now asked of it. Every time she thought she'd devised a path that would get her home with a minimum of stench, they were opening up a new ditch and draining pipes and she'd have to find another path. She wrinkled her nose as she crossed a plank thrown over another open ditch. A group of men was digging and poking at the far end, trying to figure out where the clog was this time and how much more of the pipes would have to be disconnected to solve the problem so they could hook it all up together again.

She waved to them, in a vain attempt to also relieve her nose, and took the straps of her bag into her other hand, swinging it to create more of a breeze. It didn't help at all. She continued on, cutting between two more of the new barracks. There were no windows on the sides of the buildings facing her and it was a bit like walking down a tunnel. She liked the illusion of solitude that she felt there, since there was nowhere else that that could be found. She angled across the truck road that ran down the far end of the buildings, heading for yet another plank bridge over another ditch that ran in front of two more buildings. She'd just stepped onto it when steely arms wrapped around her, trapping her arms against her sides and lifting her off her feet. The book bag dropped from her fingers, spilling papers across the dusty ground and into the ditch.

"Ow! Let go!" she yelled.

"Going somewhere, pretty butterfly?"

Bad breath washed warmly across her cheek and she wriggled to get away, heels kicking behind her but not connecting. She knew that voice. She also knew the other voice that spoke up a little further behind her.

"Let her go," Kenshin said.

"Oh, but of course," Hosokawa replied, turning Cho loose. She ran to Kenshin, ducking behind him but peeking around his side. "I was afraid she was going to fall in."

"I saw what was going on. You keep your hands off her."

"All perfectly innocent, I assure you," he said, but his eyes said different. "Don't make too much of a fuss. You know how ready they are to shoot." He gestured towards the guard tower on the fence at the end of the road. One of the soldiers was leaning against the rail of the walkway around the cab at the top of the tower, idly scanning the grounds.

"In that case, make sure they hit you first." Kenshin's eyes flashed gold, and then quieted back to their usual lavender as he glanced down at Cho, his arm circling her shoulders protectively. "C'mon, Cho-chan, let's get home."

"My homework…" she said, gesturing at the spilled papers. "…and my bag…"

"Go ahead and get it. He won't bother you."

Cho looked from one man to the other, then scampered to gather up her things, reassured by the look in Kenshin's eyes. Hosokawa made no move to interfere with her, but she stayed as far from him as she could while gathering everything up. She returned to Kenshin brushing the dirt off the knees of her pants, gained when she knelt to fetch papers from the ditch. She tucked her free hand into Kenshin's and felt his fingers tighten around hers.

With another warning look at Hosokawa, they walked away, but Kenshin could feel the other man's eyes boring into his back.

Halfway to their barrack, Cho spoke up hesitantly.

"Uncle Tom, are you mad at me?"

"I'm mad, but not at you. Cho, from now on, I don't want to you go to and from school without your mother or me. If we can't do it, we'll see if Mr. Fukuzaki can. I don't trust that guy." Kenshin looked down at her and tipped his head back the way they'd come.

"I don't like him. He feels bad," Cho said, voice breaking.

Kenshin stopped and knelt beside her, pulling her against his chest in a quick hug. "Yes, he does. I'm surprised you can tell. You can feel when he's there?"

Cho nodded. "I felt him just before he grabbed me, but he was behind me, so I couldn't block him. And then he was holding too tight, so I couldn't get away."

"It's okay. Kendo lessons don't really help with that, do they?" He pushed her back a couple steps so he could look into her eyes. She mutely shook her head.

"I hated not being able to get away."

A memory came back unbidden.

_A bright summer day in Japan, just after a rain. A seven-year-old Kenshin, known as Shinta to his family, stood in the center of a ring of village boys who taunted him, calling him oni and throwing mud at him. He didn't try to fight back; there were too many of them. All he wanted was to get back home, now that he'd finished the errand for his mother. Then one of the bigger ones decided that throwing mud took too long and grabbed him from behind, lifting him off his feet and carrying him to a muddy place on the road where the water had collected. Even though Shinta struggled, he couldn't get free. The other boy dropped him in, soaking him, and then stepped in to rub more mud on his face. Then he went down, too, as he was hit from the side by another boy._

_"I'll teach you to pick on my brother!" the newcomer yelled, and Shinta, wiping muddy water from his eyes, realized it was his second-oldest brother, Kyo. His tormentor was bigger and put up a decent defense, but he was no match for the enraged smaller boy, who managed to wrestle him down and then sit on his chest, pummeling him with blow after blow until Shinta struggled to his feet and grabbed one arm._

_"Brother, stop!"_

_"Kyo, what are you doing?" Their oldest brother, Ichiro, a leggy twelve-year-old, ran down the village's one street. All the other village children scattered._

_"He threw Shinta into the mud. I thought if he liked it so well, he should have some, too!"_

_Ichiro stood at the edge of the puddle, now a churned pit of viscous brown goo, and eyed it and his two younger brothers distastefully. "And you helped yourself to some, too, I see. Mother's going to kill both of you. Get out of there."_

_The younger boys waded through the mess with Kyo helping Shinta against the sucking pull of the mud. The tormentor-turned-victim was struggling out at a different spot._

_"He's still oni; everyone knows it," he muttered. "That red hair and those weird eyes…"_

_Ichiro barely spared him a glance. "Shut up, or I'll throw you back in. You got no business beating up on the little kids. You should have been out in the fields with us. You, too, Kyo."_

_"I had to help Shinta. They always pick on him."_

_"Get down to the creek and wash off," Ichiro ordered, following to make sure they did._

_"Shinta-chan, you've got to fight back when they grab you. Don't let them throw you in the mud." Kyo washed out his kimono and handed it to Ichiro to spread in the sun, and then ducked under the water to rinse the mud out of his hair. Shinta knelt in the shallows, rubbing the mud out of his clothes onto the rocks._

_"They were all around me and then Taku grabbed me from behind and I couldn't get away," he said, after Kyo surfaced. He handed his kimono to his oldest brother and waded out deeper, until the pull of the water threatened to take him under whether he wanted to go or not. He looked enviously at Kyo, who was three years older and almost a foot taller than him. Kyo was deeper in the creek and not having any problems staying in one place._

_"I'm too little," he said, striking the surface of the water in frustration. The droplets sparkled in the sun before falling back into the creek. "They just pick me up and I can't do anything."_

_"Yeah, you are short, like Mother, but that doesn't mean you can't do anything," Kyo said. "We'll show you later, right Ichi-kun? After we're done with dinner." He swam to his little brother and inspected the bright red head. "You still have mud in your hair, and behind your ears. Hold your breath." When Shinta did, he dunked the younger boy under, giving his head a rough, vigorous scrubbing. Shinta spluttered back to the surface._

_"Ow! Hey!_

_"That's better." Kyo wiped a stubborn bit of mud from behind one of Shinta's ears._

_"Would you two hurry up?" _

_"Are our clothes dry yet?" Kyo asked, towing Shinta behind him as he waded ashore._

_"Of course not; you haven't been out of them long enough." Ichiro threw a crumpled, wet kimono at each of them. He'd wrung as much water out of them as he could, but they were nowhere near dry. "Yours can dry out in the fields, Kyo; we've got to get back there. You go home and change into a dry one, Shinta-chan, and help Mother. And stay out of the village where the other kids can pick on you."_

_The boys split up, with the older two going through the village to the rice fields and Shinta heading home along the creek._

_Later, after a meager meal and their evening chores, they gathered behind the house on a flat, hard-packed bit of the yard between the house and the garden that Shinta had spent most of the day weeding._

_"So he grabbed you like this, right?" Kyo asked, wrapping his arms around Shinta from behind and lifting the smaller boy off his feet._

_"Yes," Shinta said. Before he could start flailing at his brother with his arms, Ichiro stepped closer._

_"Okay, think what you can do from here. Your arms and legs are free. Probably your best bet is just to go all limp. He won't be expecting your extra weight and you'll pull him off balance. When he drops you, he'll be bent over and you can twist around and punch him just below the nose."_

_Shinta immediately went limp and even though Kyo was expecting it, it still pulled him forward. Shinta's balled-up fist glanced off his cheekbone._

_"Ow! You aren't supposed to hit me! And your aim is off. You gotta look first and then punch what you're looking at."_

_"Okay, once you're on the ground, you can kick with the side of your foot into the inside of his knee – not really! Only on someone attacking you." Ichiro rolled his eyes. Shinta was obviously having difficulty separating reality from practice. "If you hit him hard enough, it'll hurt really bad and he'll let go. You might even break his leg. Then you can run and he can't chase you. Let's try a hold where your arms are trapped."_

_"You hold him this time," Kyo said, letting Shinta go and rubbing at his cheekbone. Ichiro motioned for Shinta to turn around, and then wrapped his brother in a bear hug, trapping his arms._

_"Okay, turn your head sideways and go limp."_

_Shinta did, and slithered out of his brother's grasp onto the ground. The success of the move made him grin widely._

_"Okay, but you're not done; don't move!" Kyo said. "You want to land with your feet under you, not just on your butt. If your feet are under you, you can run, or kick, or something to get away. Otherwise, he'll just grab you again. Now you've got an advantage over taller kids, because you're so short, it's easy to reach up and grab his balls, or punch him. If you're going to grab, twist hard; if you're going to punch, punch hard. You might even try jamming your elbow into him. The idea is, he's going to be hurting and he can't run after you."_

_"And don't you dare hit me," Ichiro said warningly. "Just get the idea, okay?"_

_Shinta nodded, wide-eyed._

_"One thing you can do either way if you can't slide loose is bang the back of your hear against his nose. That might startle him enough to let you go."_

_"Right," Kyo agreed. "Now, say he grabs you by an arm." He suited action to words, taking Shinta by his left wrist. "He's going to expect you to pull away from him, but what you've got to do is pull away and then kick into his knee with the side of your foot again."_

_Shinta tried, but the movement was awkward. Kyo let him go._

_"No, like this. Grab my arm, Ichi-kun." Kyo showed his little brother a kick in slow motion, miming a strike at the older boy's knee. "Bring your knee way up and then slam your foot hard, right into the joint. Okay, you do it, but don't really hit him."_

_Ichiro let go of one brother and grabbed the other. Shinta dutifully mimicked the kick he was supposed to do. _

_"That was pretty good," Kyo said, encouragingly._

_"What are you boys doing?" Their father's voice came from out of the dusk, coming home late from a meeting with the village headman._

_"Showing Shinta the stuff you taught us about getting away from bullies, Tou-san," Ichiro said, bowing respectfully. The younger boys bowed also._

_"Ah." Their father surveyed each serious face before him, the older two a little worried that they may have overstepped their bounds, and the youngest worried about needing to be taught. He smiled tiredly and ruffled the hair of each as he passed, two black heads and one red one, the last like his own. "Make sure you practice, then, and don't get hurt," he said, and continued up onto the porch, stepping out of his sandals at the door and into the house._

The memory faded and Kenshin came back to reality with Cho looking up at him curiously. How he'd blessed his brothers nearly a year later when he'd been an orphaned child sold into slavery. Twice he'd used some of those same moves when being grabbed by one of the slavers, a sweaty, foul-smelling man named Nejire. He'd never gotten away from the slave train, but it had been enough to call attention to the man's behavior and the slave-master, Shiireru-san, had told the man off. The young slaves were more valuable untouched, he'd said. The second time Shiireru-san had had to discipline Nejire, he'd reinforced the directive with his whip, and Kenshin had known that if Nejire had ever had a chance, his pain would have been transferred to one small, red-headed slave. He hadn't understood at the time what 'untouched' meant, nor the significance of the slave-master's name, and had hoped to be sold before that day came. Death had come instead; first for the slaves and slavers by bandits, then for the bandits. Little red-haired Shinta, the only survivor, had found himself apprenticed to, and renamed by, the most formidable swordsman in Japan. Once Kenshin had realized what 'untouched' meant, he'd always been grateful in an ironic kind of way for the slave master's greed. And doubly so, without the irony, for Hiko's rescue of him.

"Tell you what, I'm going to teach you a few things my…a couple boys showed me a long time ago," he said, his hand on her shoulder urging her to walk with him again. "In fact, I think everyone in our class should know them. So let's spend some time doing that during our lesson today, okay? You can help me show how it's done, and learn at the same time."

"Okay," she said. Her smile, when she looked up at him, wasn't as bright as he would have liked it, but the adoration in her eyes was enough to reaffirm that he was where he needed to be.

"Can you feel me?" he asked casually, as they walked back to the stall. "Like you did the mean man?"

"Sometimes, if I think really hard on it. You're all…" She thought for a moment and then tried to put it into words. "Bright and calm and sharp and…I don't know. Not all of them at once, but like right now? When you came up? I knew you were there and I didn't even have to try. You were all hot and sharp then, but you're not now." She looked up at him. "Now I can't feel you at all."

"Amazing," he murmured, stroking a hand over her hair. She could sense ki already even though she hadn't been trained in it and didn't know what it was. "How did you know it was me?"

"'Cause it just was." She looked at him like it was the dumbest question she'd ever heard. "Nobody feels like anyone else, just like nobody looks like anyone else. That mean man…he feels like the sewer pipes smell. Maybe if there wasn't a ditch there, I would have know he was there sooner."

By that time, they were at the stall and he sent her inside to get her stick, letting the subject drop. She took a deep breath and ran in. She exited two seconds later with a piercing shriek and a leap into Kenshin's arms as he rushed up the ramp.

"What? What is it?" he demanded. He sensed nothing but Cho's fright and the curiosity of those few of their neighbors who were around, coming out of the stalls or peering around the corner of the building to see what the disturbance was.

"A m-m-m-m… A m-m-m-m…"

"Spit it out!"

"A m-m-mouse!"

Kenshin looked at her blankly. "A mouse? You were screaming because of a mouse?"

"It was looking at me with its beady little mousy eyes!" Her voice was high and thin.

"What else is it supposed to look at you with?" he asked, exasperated, trying to pry her arms from their choke hold around his neck while the neighbors chuckled.

"I hate mice!"

"Cho-chan, you've got to make friends with them; they outnumber us," Kenshin said, setting her down on the walkway. "Now get your stick. We're going to be late."

"But what if it's still there?"

"You've just burst its eardrums. It'll never hear you coming. Go!"

Cho made a face and then took another deep breath. Then she dashed in, grabbed her broom handle, and ran out again, letting her breath out in a gust of wind.

"It stinks so bad," she said.

"Yes, it does," he agreed, scanning the sky. "Too bad it's too cold to sleep outside."

"I wouldn't want to," Cho said. "There are too many noisy people outside and the big lights going across and that mean man could come. I just put my blanket over my nose."

"What if Mickey comes back? Mouse on the inside and mean man on the outside. Then what would you do?"

Cho was silent for a long moment, and then she said in a tiny voice, "I just want to go home. There's no mice or mean men there."

'Well, she has a point,' Kenshin thought, but all he said was, "I agree, I'd like to go home, too." Still, he would sleep out if it wasn't so far from flat ground to the stall.

In the full summer heat, the stable row had gotten so aromatic that no one spent much time inside the stalls anymore. Many complained that the smell of old manure and urine made them sick. The ventilation was poor, even though none of the stall walls went all the way to the roof. There was only enough wind to stir up the dust and then let it resettle so that the women and girls were constantly dusting and cleaning. The patch of trees had disappeared in the flurry of building that had been going on through the months of June and July. Now there were additional barracks there, and between Barrack 16 and the race track, a new mess hall and a laundry and latrine building, and west of them, a cluster of four buildings formed a medical unit, including a dentist's office. All of the building had stirred up more dust and dirt.

The two of them walked around the buildings to where the class was beginning to collect on the track, the usual number of observers hanging out on the dirt nearby. People were already starting to line up for the early shift at dinner, cloth-wrapped dishes in hand, and they watched, too, as the class got started. The kendoists had gotten used to having an audience and ignored them.

Kenshin let the first part of the kendo class run as usual, putting the students through their basic movements and forms, relying on Yamaguchi and Sato to supply the terms that he pretended he didn't know or couldn't remember. After an hour, he called a halt.

"Okay, I need everyone to lay their sticks aside and get into two lines. Rank doesn't matter, but try to pick someone about your own size. Cho, pick someone your size, but I'm going to borrow you every now and then to demonstrate."

He loved how everyone jumped to obey, showing him the same discipline and respect they'd shown Sasuke. It certainly made his job easier. They were practically humming with excitement over doing something different.

"You all know I'm not a kendoist," he began after they were all lined up again. A quick mental count assured him that everyone had a partner. "It may or may not surprise you to know that I've done a fair amount of street fighting and some of it's been on the nasty side. I probably don't have to tell any of you that even before recent events, it hasn't always been safe to be of Japanese heritage in California, and in many ways, it's worse to be mixed, like I am. Because of recent events, it's probably going to continue to be that way. I know your sword style… What is it again?"

"Kamiya Kasshin Ryu!" echoed off the nearby barracks on both sides of the track. Kenshin looked around at the noise.

"I love that!" he laughed, and some of the students and watchers grinned also. "Okay, focus. Your sword style is about self improvement and protection…" He drew that last word out to emphasize it, "…of yourself, your family, et cetera. However, you're not always going to have a stick handy, a point recently brought home to me, so today, we're going to learn a bit of self-defense that you can do if you're unarmed. I've done these techniques and I know they work if you do them right. So just for a change of pace, you're actually going to learn something today."

They spent another hour with Kenshin initially demonstrating on Cho. When Yamaguchi questioned whether the technique would work on someone bigger than him since Cho wasn't able to put Kenshin on the ground during one of the take-downs, Kenshin just grinned and beckoned him forward.

"Grab me, big guy," he invited, and executed the technique so fast that most of the students didn't see it. All they saw was Yamaguchi on the ground with Kenshin kneeling in the middle of his back.

"These things work," he said, getting up and offering a hand to Yamaguchi, who was laying on the ground looking like he had no idea of how he'd gotten there, "…even if the guy is bigger than you. Cho hasn't put me down only because she doesn't know this any better that you do and she hasn't gotten it yet. If you all practice – and we will practice this stuff – it will work. It's all a matter of technique…and speed."

Late August 1942

Fitz strode up the embankment to the fence with his usual aplomb, Karen Anderson puffing behind him. As usual, the twelve foot high fence was lined with people on both sides, and many of them recognized Fitz as he approached, calling greetings and waving. Fitz returned it with loud good cheer. Karen started laughing, which didn't help her breathing situation at all.

"I swear," she panted, "I feel like I'm following a band leader around. Glenn Miller probably doesn't get this kind of attention."

"Well, you know, it's all a matter of quality," Fitz said, negligently. As he got within reach, he started shaking hands with those on the outside and calling greetings to those inside. He was as popular, Karen noticed, with the men as the women, and it didn't surprise her that he knew everyone's names. No one paid much attention to her, which was all right in her opinion.

'It's hard to be sociable when you're gasping for breath,' she thought. 'I am going to have to make more effort to lose these baby pounds. It feels like Tank left a twin behind and it's growing at the same pace he is.'

She leaned against the fence, watching the interactions and noting with interest the social strata. Those on the inside were almost exclusively Nisei, college aged and so American sounding that if she closed her eyes, she wouldn't have been able to tell what race they were. On the outside, the people were a mix of Negro, Chinese, and Filipino, with a smattering of whites, some of whom wore the _yarmulke_ of Orthodox Jews. For the first time in her life, she felt like a minority. It was a very odd feeling, and a little intimidating. Fitz was apparently oblivious to any differences in creed or color. He chatted and joked with all of them equally.

'This is what America should be like, without the fence,' Karen thought. 'Everyone treating everyone else equally and not getting hung up about where we all come from and what we believe.'

She was aware of how fragile it was. A misunderstood phase or a wrong word could make it all fall apart, but for now it was a vision of the future. She smiled, looking up the fence past the top rail towards the sky. Then another thought intruded and she reached over and tugged on Fitz' sleeve.

"You tossed a bottle of milk over this?" she asked, gesturing over her head. "You've got quite an arm."

"It was a good catch on our side, too. Niitsu's got real talent," one of the young men said, interrupting Fitz' preening.

"That's why he's on our team," another chimed in, gloating. "You guys thought he was too scrawny and didn't pick him."

"And aren't we just kicking ourselves for that," the first one said, shaking his head. "When he snagged that line drive and whipped it to second for that double play last night I was about ready to eat my glove. He just dove right in front of it; the man has no fear, and I swear he knows where the ball is going before the bat even hits it."

"Jiro, do you mind checking to see if he's around?" Fitz asked. "I need to talk to him."

"No problem," the second man said, glancing at his watch. "I think the kendo class is about to end, and they're right over there." He pointed toward the cluster of barracks. "I'll be back in a minute."

When Kenshin and Cho arrived at the fence, Fitz surveyed their dusty appearance with a raised eyebrow.

"You look like you left Oklahoma ten years ago and just arrived. Did you leave any soil behind?"

"Mr. Fitz, I'm only nine years old and I've never been to Oklahoma so I couldn't have left there ten years ago," Cho said.

Fitz leaned over to face her eye-to-eye.

"Are you always so literal?" he asked.

"I read a lot," she said, shrugging. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson."

Kenshin and Karen, who had greeted each other with a two-finger handshake through the chain link, started laughing.

"Literal, not literary," Fitz began.

"Forget it, Fitz," Kenshin said. "She's never going to play into your sense of humor."

"Hmph. Well, can't fault a man for trying. Anyway, you're the one who is going to need some humor. I've got bad news."

"What's up?"

"I regret to inform you that your garage has taken a turn for the worse. It burned down the other morning. Good thing the car was with me," he said, jerking a thumb towards the road. "I got home just as the fire brigade was putting down the last of the flames."

"My garage burned down?" Kenshin was both surprised and puzzled. "How could that happen?"

"Hmm, too early to tell for sure but the fire chief thinks it was arson. Part of a glass bottle near the place it started and some rude verbiage painted on the fence nearby."

Just as he finished speaking, a car passed by on the highway with the horn blaring, and then someone yelled out the window: "Jap lovers!" A couple more did the same.

Fitz tipped his head towards the road. "Yes, like that."

"Well, da…uh…dang." Kenshin coughed. "My truck?"

"Didn't have a chance. Besides that I wasn't there, it was up on blocks like you asked me to do. Good thing for you we put all your tools in the shed before we moved Masumi's things in, but bad for her - everything in there is gone."

"Fitz and I checked the boxes in the attic of the house and I think all the family heirlooms are safe," Karen said. "Masumi and I labeled things pretty well. But all their clothes and books and a lot of the furniture…" She fished in her purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper that she rolled up and passed to Kenshin through the links of the fence. "This is a list of the boxes in your house, so anything in them has survived."

"All of our stuff is burned?" Cho asked. "All our toys and books?"

"Not all of it, Honey, but a lot of it." Karen reached her fingers as far through the fence as she could, in lieu of the hug she would rather have given. Cho took them and squeezed.

"Well, I guess clothes and furniture can be replaced," Kenshin said, and tugged on Cho's ponytail. "Both the kids have gotten so much taller, none of their old clothes would fit anyway."

"But my Oz book was in one of the boxes," Cho said, tears running down her cheeks. "Mama and Daddy gave it to me after we saw the movie. It was the only one I had." Her voice broke as she wrapped her arms around Kenshin's waist, burying her face in his shirt and sobbing.

"Oh, Honey," Karen said, clinging to the fence, her desire to comfort strong.

"Rough day," Kenshin said, encircling Cho's narrow shoulders with both arms and holding her close. "Any suspects?"

"They'll do an investigation, but I don't expect much to come of it," Fitz said. "Even if I push the point, it all comes down to it being Japanese property after all and who cares if an Englishman is living there? I am going to ask for more police patrols. I can't be there all the time, and I'm feeling somewhat unsafe. I think they owe me that."

Heaven help the arsonists if Fitz caught them, but he looked so affronted and helpless that Kenshin wanted to laugh. He didn't know any other Immortal who could put on an act like Fitz. His friend really should go to Hollywood.

"How's the rest of the place?"

"The shingles on the edge of the shed roof facing the garage are a bit singed, but not bad. The rest is okay. I took some of the leftover paint in your shed and went over the graffiti so it's not as visible as it could be. I'll probably have to give it another coat. I may also purchase a large, unfriendly dog…"

Kenshin snorted. "Just keep it outside. Keeping it inside won't do any good for security or the contents of my house." The idea was ludicrous, of course. While Fitz liked animals in general, Kenshin had never known him to keep one as a pet. He was far too irresponsible.

"We brought more school supplies," Karen said, jumping to the next topic she and Fitz had made the visit for. "We had to leave them at the front office. We couldn't get through security today because there was too much of a line, so we came around here. The man just took them from us and we weren't sure if you were going to get them or not. He acted like it was contraband."

"They inspect everything, but it does get through, eventually. Everything that's been donated so far has been such a big help," Kenshin said.

"Are you seeing them in the classroom?" Karen asked Cho. "The books and paper and pencils?"

"Yes. And now we have lots of homework," Cho said in such an aggrieved tone that the adults laughed at her. Her face was streaked with tears and the dirt off Kenshin's shirt and she was still hanging on to him, but she had recovered a little bit.

"I told her when school started that not having supplies wasn't so bad but she didn't believe me," Kenshin grinned.

"She sounds just like Lee and Ricky. Oh, I have letters for you from the girls." Karen dug into her purse and pulled out several letters, which she curled up lengthwise to poke through the fence to Cho.

"Thank you. How did Amy's recital go? Did you see it?"

"Yes, we all went. It was very good. She has a lot of talent. I'm sure she'll tell you all about it in there."

"Well, we have news, too. They're going to move us out of here some time in the near future," Kenshin said.

"What?" Karen exclaimed.

"They have said this was only an assembly center, so it wasn't permanent. They're going to start moving people out next week, and then it'll be however long it takes until they assign us a date and time. No one knows what the schedule is, so you can imagine the general uproar and the rumor mill is going full force. I'm hoping that in the next day or two, they'll let us know."

"Where are you going? Tule Lake would be closest, I guess," Fitz said, referring to the internment camp in the Klamath Valley near the Oregon border.

"I think Manzanar is actually closer, but it's neither. It's going to be somewhere out in Utah. They've referred to it as the Central Utah Relocation Center, but I have no idea where it actually is. If you want to apply to go elsewhere, you can, but it really doesn't matter to us. One place will be as primitive as the next."

"Utah?" Karen asked. "What's in Utah?"

"Nothing, that's why they're putting us there," Kenshin said, with ironic humor. "We haven't heard much else except that it's going to be a 'pioneering community' and we should be prepared for harsh conditions."

"Sounds a bit like this," Fitz said, gesturing at the cluttered landscape behind the fence.

"Yeah, well, hopefully it will be without the smell, anyway. We might be asking you to get us some supplies before we go. We're still not going to be able to take much with us – only what we can carry – but Masumi and I were talking it over the other night after we read the notice and we could use some things of a practical nature that we didn't think of for here. We really did think this place would be better set up for us. This time we're going into it with a bit more understanding. If even the government is admitting it's going to be primitive, we're going to need some different gear."

"Make us a list and we'll do what we can," Karen said.

"Yes, we'll hunt it down. And now, I think, we need to go if we're going to get you back in time," Fitz said, glancing at his watch.

"Yes, my folks will be bringing Tank and Lee home soon – she went there after school since I was going to be here. Ricky has football practice now, so he stays after school later but he'll be home soon, too. Personally, I think seventh grade is a bit early to start, but I'm just a mom; what do I know? I remember him in baby booties and now he's wearing cleats."

"That's the way it goes. You'll survive it," Kenshin said encouragingly.

He and Cho watched their friends until the car pulled away, and then returned to the barrack.

Masumi, Tatsuya, and the Fukuzakis were loitering at the end of the walkway ramp waiting for them when they got back. When Kenshin explained about the garage, Masumi exchanged a look with the elder Fukuzakis and then shrugged.

"Shikata ga nai," she said. It was a common phrase around camp, and Kenshin didn't have to pretend he didn't understand what it meant: it can't be helped. It expressed a certain amount of fatalism that many had adopted as a way of getting through their current circumstances.

"We've done without it all for so long that I suppose it isn't that important," she continued. "I'm sorry about your things, and your truck."

Kenshin shrugged. "The more I've thought about it and the longer we've been here, the more I've thought I'd never get a chance to drive it again anyway. They don't do well when they're just sitting. At least I can drop the insurance coverage on it. Nothing else in the garage was terribly important. All the tools are in the shed. But that was almost all of your furniture."

"It's not that important. We would have had to replace the couch soon anyway. It's been used as a trampoline too many times." She ruffled Tatsuya's hair. "And this one won't need a crib anymore. He's been doing fine on the cot."

"When he's not complaining about being cold and crawling up with me," Kenshin grinned.

With the attention on him, Tatsuya looked up and then held his arms up to Kenshin.

"Piggy ride?" he asked hopefully.

"Okay, but you carry the dishes. No knocking me in the head, either." Masumi held the dish bags until Tatsuya clambered onto Kenshin's back and then handed them back to the little boy. He looped the drawstrings around his wrists and the wrapped his arms around Kenshin's neck.

"Okay. Let's go," he said, kicking his feet.

"No kidding, let's go," Hiroki echoed, hopping off the rail he was perched on.

"Got three hollow legs," Kisho muttered, motioned Yuki and Masumi past him.

Kenshin fell in behind, aware that the sense of normalcy was fleeting. Things were about to get stirred up again, and no one knew what would be in store in the new place. All they could do was hang on to each other.

_Author Notes: Well, parts of this chapter were like pulling hen's teeth. Sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoy. Just as a bit of historic interest, I asked my folks if they remember this time and what they thought of it. Mom, born in 1934 (a year younger than Cho) and living in New York City, doesn't remember it at all. Dad, born in 1930 (two years younger than Hiroki) and living in south-central Ohio, said that everyone believed that the Japanese, both Issei and Nisei, deserved everything they got. After all, the media had told them those people were dangerous and they had no reason to doubt the media…_

_I am reminded that I forgot to put in vocabulary, so:_

_Ichiro - First son_

_Kyo - great_

_Shiireru - procurer_

_Nejire - twisted - I'm sure his parents were thinking artistically so, like a bonsai tree, not personality-wise but children never grow the way you'd think._

_I think that's all. Any questions, just review and ask!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Still don't own Ruroken or Highlander._

_I wasn't happy with the original version of this chapter, so I edited it a little. I still don't know if I'm happy with it, but I can't move forward until this bit's settled. Please excuse if nothing shows up for a while. It means my muse and I are in a wrestling match._

Chapter 17 - Topaz, Jewel of the Desert

Fort Missoula, August 1942

It was a good day for baseball. Far to the north a thunderstorm hung on the mountain peaks, painting the sky in variegated blue and grey, but here the sun shone brightly. The hayfields' bright gold was echoed in the early-turning aspen on the closer mountains. The Clark Fork River was a line of rich green cottonwoods and darker green conifers surrounded the mountain aspen like a victorious army. The nearby clatter of a haymow brought with it a scent of summer. The bat cracked and male voices cheered or jeered in three languages.

On a make-shift bench at the fort's ball field, Sasuke noticed none of it. He should have been on the field. He should have been cheering and jeering with the rest of them. He should have been lending his good eyes, strong shoulders, and long legs to a certain victory of the Japanese All-Stars over the Italian Dream Team. He should have volunteered, or accepted a nomination to the team. Coached, at least. But he hadn't, and he wasn't. He was taking up space because there was nothing else to do.

He led the morning exercises because the men expected it of him, and took his turn at chores for the same reason, but he did it all by rote. Every week, he wrote as many letters and postcards as he was allowed, each asking the recipient to pass the word to other friends and acquaintances to support his efforts to be joined with his family. So far, he hadn't heard anything back from the board.

He didn't notice anyone approaching until a large shadow blocked the sunlight and Carlo sat down on the bench beside him. The bench sagged and creaked audibly under the Italian's ample weight.

"Heya, you no come arounda da kitchen no more" he said. "You no play, you skinny…well, you more skinny. Whatsa matter you?"

"I'm sorry, Carlo. I'm not up to much of anything. A lot of letter writing, but that's all." Sasuke didn't look at him, but stared with unseeing eyes over the baseball field.

"Yeah? I see you doing da exercise alla da time." Carlo gestured towards the center of the compound where Sasuke held the exercise classes. He'd also spent a lot of time there lately, doing his kata over and over again in a kind of moving meditation.

"Yeah, the guys kind of expect that."

"Dey expecta you play, too, but you no do. You no enjoy nothing no more. Is no good. You come arounda da kitchen and I make you a big plate-a da spaghetti, hey? It make you smile again." To Carlo, pasta fixed everything.

"Maybe."

Carlo sighed internally. He wasn't the only one who had noticed Sasuke's change in demeanor, but he was, perhaps, the only one who would say something about it. The Japanese, he'd noticed, had some pretty strict ideas about privacy. Fortunately for Carlo, he was Italian and didn't have to follow the rules.

"Hey, howsa da bambino? You hear?"

Sasuke's brown eyes clouded over. "No bambino no more, Carlo," he said so softly the big man almost didn't hear over the noise from the field. "He didn't make it."

Ah, that was the problem, then. Sasuke had bent Carlo's ear over many a plate of pasta and bruschetta for the Italian not to know what family meant to him. The Japanese man had glowed with pride when he'd shown Carlo the drawing of his son and half-brother napping together, giving the big cook the two-year life history of the little boy. Even his temper tantrums had received glowing reviews. Nor could there be a smarter, more athletic, more caring daughter than his Cho, who had sent wool socks and mittens she had learned to knit herself to every man in the Japanese barracks and could swing a shinai like a pro, and her only nine years old. Of Sasuke's wife, Carlo knew little, only that whenever he tried to speak of her, Sasuke's eyes would well up and he could say nothing more than that he missed her dreadfully. The only thing worse than losing a child to Sasuke was not being there when it happened to comfort his family and keep them together.

"Oh, that'sa too bad. I verra sorry. No wonder you so quiet."

Thunder muttered out of the north as Carlo gazed across the field, where the sides were changing for the next inning. The Japanese were winning, but only just. Despite the loss of a couple of their best players – besides Sasuke's absence, one man was sitting on the bench with his ankle wrapped and another cradled an ice bag over his thumb – the Japanese still played better together as a team than the Italians did.

"Your brother, he take care of your wife there, hey? Make sure she'sa okay, right?"

"Yes, Tom's taking care of all of them."

"He'sa good man, your brother. Here, we alla you brothers. You see those mens out there. We alla worry abouta you-a. We take care you for your family, hey?"

Sasuke stared across the ball field, vision blurred and a lump in his throat. He had to swallow several times before he could speak.

"Thanks, Carlo."

Both men were quiet for a while as the game went on, strikes and outs and changing sides. The haymow had stopped and the thunder sounded closer. Sasuke shifted on the bench.

"You making spaghetti any time soon?"

"Gotta big pot-a da sauce cooking right now," Carlo beamed.

xxxxxx

Tanforan Race Track, early September 1942

"Hand me that hammer, would you?" Kisho grunted.

Kenshin paused from prying apart Masumi's little bedside table to hand the tool over, and then resumed the meticulous job of getting the boards apart without splintering them. Kisho started banging on the crate he was building out of the table and chairs that had once graced a corner of the Fukuzaki stall.

They were going by train and bus, they were told, and only could take what they could carry. Everyone assumed they'd have no more furniture in the new place than they'd had when they arrived at Tanforan, so they were creating boxes and crates out of the furniture they'd meticulously cobbled together to help carry their goods. Kenshin and Kisho figured that with their packs on their backs, they could still carry a crate between them, as could the Fukuzaki boys. That gave both families the ability to carry a bit more than they'd originally come with. Once they got wherever they were going, they could reassemble the furniture.

"Did you find out anything else about this place we're going?" Kisho asked.

"Nope, but it's safe to assume it's on the same general plan as the rest of the camps. Army doesn't like to think too much about planning bases. Once they've got a design they think works, they stick with it."

"I wonder if they'll have us digging canals and such like those poor bastards in Poston," Kisho grunted. Poston, in Arizona, was actually three camps within a mile of each other. Letters from those camps spoke of hard work in relentless heat and constant wind to the point where the residents had dubbed the camps "Dust 'em", "Toast 'em", and "Roast 'em". Everyone in Tanforan worried about getting sent there since the Bay area was not exactly known for its heat and their ability to deal with it was a question.

"Likely not. Poston's on Indian reservation land, so the Army's trying to sweeten the deal for using it; provide some infrastructure the Indians can use after this whole mess is done with. I'm not sure where in Utah we're supposed to be going, but no one's said anything about Indian land."

"I wonder if they'll let us set up a government in the new camp."

"Doubt it. We probably won't even be able to keep the little we've got, now that they've abolished the Executive Council and the Center Congress."

"Yeah, all we got now is house captains. What do they do but come by every twelve hours and wake you up to ask how many people are in your stall?"

"Miné told them 'nobody' the other day. With that quarantine sign still stuck on her door, nobody wants to challenge her even though most everybody knows it's fake," Kenshin chuckled.

"She's a wild thing, all right, but nothing wrong with a woman who says her mind," Kisho said and Kenshin agreed. "Did we get inspected yet?"

"Masumi said they came yesterday. And they almost passed by Miné and her quarantine sign. I kind of wish we'd put up one, but I don't suppose anyone would believe two of them on the same building. Anyway, I wasn't here. They'll want to inspect again after we get packed."

"Yeah, nothing like waiting until we have all our stuff neatly packed and then pawing through it so it won't fit properly in the crate when they're done."

Kenshin made a noncommittal noise and kept working. He had been at the stall making a list of items for Fitz to get for them when he'd heard the inspectors on the other side of the building. Tatsuya had been quietly playing with his animals on the floor and Kenshin used him as a convenient excuse for leaving the area, telling Masumi he was taking the boy to the latrine. While he was fairly confident the inspectors wouldn't see the sword hung down his back, there was no point in tempting fate. It was best just to get it completely out of the way.

"I noticed they fenced off the northeast corner of the camp, near the railroad siding. I suppose that means they're building a platform for us," Kisho said.

"Makes sense. I'm glad we're going in the first group. The sooner we get out of these stalls, the better it will be for everyone's health."

"Yeah. Bad news is, Barrack 14 will be on the same train, so that's your buddy Hosokawa."

"As long as he leaves us alone, I'm happy to ignore him. He's kept out of my way since the last time." Kenshin had told all the adults about Hosokawa's attempt on Cho and the Himura children hadn't gone anywhere without at least one of the adults in attendance since. Daisuke and Hiroki were warned, but neither Kenshin nor Kisho really worried about them. Hosokawa didn't seem inclined to try anything physical with them and with Daisuke's even temper and Hiroki's smart mouth, he wasn't likely to get anywhere verbally, either. Both boys were smart enough, they hoped, not to take anything that man said at face value.

"That seems to be the best I can do," Kisho said, turning the crate around and examining it with a critical eye. "Not the best…"

Kenshin stopped prying out nails from another table and looked over at the crate.

"Geez, Kish, we'll be lucky if it holds together long enough to get packed," he ribbed.

"Hn. Inferior materials make inferior products, but it's studier than it looks."

"You'd better hope so or Yuki will tear a strip out of you. I've got these pulled apart so you can either start building another or you can take apart the rest of the chairs. I've got to get to the ball field. Cho and I have one last game before the move."

"How's she coming with that?"

"Technique is coming along. She's good at throwing and catching, but her batting needs work. She still says she doesn't like baseball, so we've got to work on attitude, too."

Kenshin changed into his baseball uniform and jogged out to the ball field. Most of the fathers were grouped around the backstop and the girls were just approaching in a bunch, having walked over from the school together. Masumi, with Tatsuya in tow, and a couple of the teachers had provided escort, shepherding the girls through one of the latrines to change into their uniforms and then through the rest of the camp.

"How was daycare?" Kenshin asked Masumi.

"He's starting to get used to the idea. I managed to sneak out and pick up the mail and he didn't really notice. The teachers were able to distract him before it sank in that I was gone and not that he just couldn't see me. He's still not sharing the animals, though."

"That'll take a while."

"Yes. I've gotten a couple letters from Sasuke – it looks like they all came through the censor at the same time – and it looks like you have something from the insurance company. I'll hang onto it until the game is over."

"Going to get a hit today?" Kenshin asked Cho, tugging on her ponytail.

"Probably not. I'm no good at batting," she pouted, tugging her hair free with an irritated look.

"That's because you don't swing level. You keep chopping down at the ball. Work on swinging sideways and you'll do better."

"Okay," she mumbled, but Kenshin could hear the lack of commitment in her voice. He looked at Masumi and shrugged.

The game was certainly not the best example of baseball ever played anywhere, but at least it was mercifully short. They only played five innings because trying to go for the full nine would have made them miss dinner. The mess hall didn't keep the doors open late for ball players. Kenshin figured they could set a new record for most errors in one game, but they slowly slogged their way through four innings. Cho was next at bat and Kenshin did his best to encourage her, but he could see her doubts in her face as she stepped up to the plate. Like her father, she couldn't conceal her feelings although she tried very hard to emulate his control of them. The first pitch was a ball so wide, she knew better than to try for it. The second came fairly over the plate and she missed it with a choppy, overhand swing.

"Cho!" Kenshin called from the sidelines near third base. "_Hidari-naga_, not _karatake_!"

On the next pitch, Cho swung sideways and connected solidly sending the ball soaring over the head of the girl playing shortstop. She stared at it, amazement written clearly on her face.

"Yes!" Kenshin crowed, jumping up and punching the air over his head. "Yes! Run! Run!"

Belatedly, she started running for first base while the shortstop and center fielder scrambled for the ball. Kenshin watched her go, laughing. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Cho! Drop…the…bat!"

She had certainly learned the lesson that a good kendoist never lost hold of their weapon. She released her death grip on the wood halfway to the base and just beat the throw. Then she jumped up and down on the bag a couple times. Kenshin gave her a thumbs-up signal followed by settling motion to tell her to calm down.

"That's the first solid hit she's gotten, isn't it?" Yamaguchi asked. His daughter was on deck in the batting box.

"Yep. You just have to put it in terms she understands," Kenshin grinned.

"I'm surprised you remembered them."

"So am I," Kenshin said, mentally cursing himself and scrambling for an explanation. He needed to be more cautious and not get so wrapped up in things. "It only goes to show that if you repeat anything often enough, I'll finally remember it. Used to drive one of my teachers nuts. Although I still get the right side and the left mixed up. I must have gotten it that time, since she swung correctly."

The girl after Cho got a base hit, putting runners on first and second, and then Rini Yamaguchi stepped up. She let two balls go by and then smacked one over the right fielder's head that brought the other two girls in and had her running the full circle of the bases. Her father stood in approving silence as Kenshin waved the girls around the bases, keeping one eye on the fielders. Most of the girls were off the bench and chattering as they greeted the base runners in a group, with their solemn-faced fathers as a backdrop. Kenshin was the odd male, grinning at the girls and giving each a pat on the head and an approving word as they passed him. Rini's hit put their team up by one point, and there were no other runs made the rest of the game. Both teams formed long lines and bowed at each other to thank the other side for a good game, and then they split up to go back to their barracks or join a line to finally get supper. Winning the last game at Tanforan raised the spirits of Cho and her teammates, and they were a noisy group as they left the ball field, calling to each other to meet in the mess hall. Cho skipped all the way back to their stall to change.

"Did you see, Mama? I finally hit one!"

"Yes, I did see." Masumi had spent much of the game dragging Tatsuya out from under the benches and preventing him from climbing over the other spectators, but she had managed to see the hit.

"It wasn't as good as Rini's, though. She got a home run."

"Rini is a very good batter," Kenshin said. "She keeps her eyes on the ball and has nice follow-through on her swing. You can do that, too, if you want. I told you, you just have to swing level and then you can start directing where you want the ball to go."

"I didn't know you meant _hidari-naga_ when you said level," Cho said. " Thought you meant like…" She made some hand and arm motion that Kenshin couldn't figure out.

"Nope. I have no idea what that is. You have to wind up and then bring it all the way around. Now that you've got the idea, we'll work on being consistent. You have to be able to do that any time you want."

"But we're moving soon."

"In between preparations. And we'll be able to work on it when we get to Utah and get straightened out."

"We'll worry about that when we get to it," Masumi interjected. "Get changed so we can eat, you two. If we take much longer, they'll close up the mess hall and we'll miss our chance." She shooed them both inside the stall.

xxxxxx

Two days before the scheduled departure, Barrack 16 had another inspection, this time of the crates and suitcases that would be stored in the baggage car of the train. Kenshin had already painted their family number on all sides and the top of their crate and waited with hammer and nails to close it up. After the inspectors looked through it, Masumi's suitcase, and Kenshin's duffle, they made checks on their list and put the tagged suitcase and duffle on a waiting truck. After Kenshin nailed the top onto the crate, he and one of the inspectors put it on the truck, too. They wouldn't see any of those items again until they arrived at their destination. Then the inspectors were off to the next stall. The only luggage left in stall 28 was two medium sized rucksacks for Kenshin and Masumi, two smaller ones for the children, and Cho's book bag. All were packed with essentials the family would need for the next two days and while on their trip. Cho's rucksack had her broken broom handle tied to it. Even broken, it had been too long to fit into the crate. Kenshin's pack also had a broom handle tied to it, but his was whole. The sweeping part of the broom was inside the pack, one of many useful things they'd asked Fitz to get for them. For Tatsuya, "essential" also included the growing collection of fat wooden animals Kenshin carved, and Kenshin and Masumi agreed, since they would keep him occupied. No one had any idea of how long the trip would be.

Wednesday the 16th dawned foggy and cool, but cleared up as the day went on. Everyone in the barrack seemed anxious and jumpy, and every bag was packed and repacked. Dinner was early for them on this day although more of it got pushed around than actually eaten. They all collected at the northeast corner of the camp by five in the afternoon. This area, which included a couple barracks, a toilet/shower building, and a laundry building, had been fenced off a couple weeks before and modified to act like a train station. The corner backed against the Southern Pacific railroad line from San Bruno to San Mateo and made a convenient way of getting the internees out of the camp without having them mix again with the rest of America. All the inmates were directed into a bullpen, where they lined up to have the bags they carried with them inspected by a dozen of the camp's white workers. Kenshin was happy it was only his bag that was searched this time, and the medical examination of their arrival at Tanforan wasn't repeated. His sword hung down his back in its usual place and he had no idea of how he'd hide it if he had to disrobe, but there was no way he was going to let it off his person with Hosokawa anywhere in the vicinity. After the baggage check, each family was assigned a group and a section number and directed to sit together in the converted laundry room to wait for the train.

Cho hung over Miné's shoulder as the artist sketched the scene before her, adding to the collection of artwork she'd already done in the camp. Kenshin hung onto the end of a leash that Fitz had included with the other supplies he'd brought, the other end snapped around the back straps of Tatsuya's overalls. The little boy was currently under the bench with a couple of his animals, but he'd taken to wandering off as he'd gotten bigger and more comfortable in camp. The leash was Kenshin's solution to keeping track of him as the room gradually filled and got more chaotic.

Finally, when the laundry building was packed with people and the area around it could hold no more, the group leaders checked again to make sure all in their group were present. As each checked in okay, the group was lead down the alley formed by two chain link fences lined with military police. The other side of the fence was crowded with camp inmates who cheered and called words of farewell and encouragement to the travelers. A few brave souls had climbed to the roof of a nearby barrack and held up banners made from sheets reading "Bon voyage!" and "See you in Utah!"

The train looked old even to Kenshin's eyes, something from a previous century brought out of mothballs and pressed into service. He helped Masumi up the steps to it and lifted the children in afterwards, following closely behind. He could feel Hosokawa's buzz off to one side, getting on a different car. He could only hope the other Immortal didn't start something in this close a space. The other man's ki was almost lost in the press of people around them, and Kenshin's natural dislike of crowded conditions prodded him hard to rebel and escape. Only knowing how Masumi and the children would suffer if he did kept him shuffling obediently in line.

The train was as dirty as it was old. Little attempt had been made to clean it for the trip. The seats were hard and straight-backed, in pairs facing each other. Masumi dusted a seat off with her handkerchief before sitting, settling Tatsuya next to her at the window and motioning Cho to the window seat across from him while Kenshin arranged their luggage as much out of the way as he could. They assumed the larger bags had gone into a baggage car somewhere down the train, but there was no good place to stow the packs with things they wanted to keep close during the ride. When he finally sat next to Cho, she took hold of his hand and leaned against his shoulder. Looking down at her pointed, scared face, Kenshin shifted his arm so that it was around her and she was tucked against his side.

"Better?" he asked softly, and she nodded silently. Like the great-grandmother she resembled, Cho was some times knocked off balance by drastic changes and it left her mentally scrambling to stabilize her world.

Across the aisle from them, the Fukuzaki family also settled into seats, with Yuki dusting her seat off in the same way Masumi had and the boys popping up out of theirs every other second to see who was around them and what everyone else was doing.

At 7:45 pm sharp, and with much clanging and noise, the train slowly ground forward, gradually picking up speed. Several people were peeking behind the drawn shades, and the car captains lurched up and down the aisles reminding everyone to keep the shades down. The War Relocation Authority, they said, was afraid that someone might take exception to the train moving the Japanese into the American interior instead of out of the country entirely and could attack it, if they looked through the windows and saw Japanese people inside. It didn't stop Hiroki from peeping through until it was finally too dark to see outside.

As the evening wore on, the cars rattled and shook, and retching noises from the back attested to people getting motion-sick. It was, perhaps, not a good idea to put people on such a train so soon after eating dinner. The heat inside the cars increased from all the bodies packed together and the steam heaters that were turned on and no one could figure out how to turn off. The gas lights only worked fitfully. After the sun went down, they rode most of the way in darkness, occasionally jolted by the sudden flaring of a light that everyone assumed had either been turned off or had died. Somewhere in front of them, Kenshin heard Miné say something out the black-out trains she'd ridden in Europe as she'd tried to get home after the outbreak of war.

Both children faded off into restless sleep, but Masumi and Kenshin only dozed, jerked awake by the uneven motion of the train or the various thumps and noises of the other occupants of the car. Masumi had reason to be thankful that her children were sleeping. Many weren't, and the crying of over-tired children was almost constant. Kenshin had reason to be thankful that Hiko's teachings on meditation had finally sunk in and he was able to blot out most of the noise and discomfort in the spaces between episodes of dozing. Aoshi, he was sure, could have gotten along on this ride with the serenity of the Buddha himself.

In the morning, tired and bleary-eyed, they wobbled their way to the end of the car, waiting in line to use the toilets. Kenshin and Tatsuya were already back in their seats by the time Masumi and Cho returned.

"It's filthy," she pronounced, plopping gracelessly onto the hard seat. "Was yours any better?"

"Not a chance," Kenshin said. "In fact, we contributed to the mess. Like many other small boys, he was having a hard time hitting the moving target."

Masumi winced, but Kenshin shrugged prosaically. "If we're lucky, we won't have to clean it," he said.

Not long after they got back, the car captains lead them to the antique dining car. The adults and Cho picked at the breakfast that was passed out, even though it was better than anything they'd had in camp. Tatsuya plowed through his breakfast, thoroughly enjoying every bit. Only the fact that Masumi had tucked his napkin into his shirt collar protected his clothing from becoming a culinary casualty.

After that, it was nothing more than a long, exhausting ride. All the beautiful places in California had been passed in the night and the only thing to look at out the windows was dry, brown Nevada high desert. The Fukuzaki boys trooped in and out of the car visiting friends in other cars while Kisho played go with another man, the women sewed, and Kenshin struggled through "A Midsummer's Night Dream", making a list of words he didn't understand so he could ask Fitz about the later. He couldn't think of a better reference for Elizabethan English.

They stopped briefly in the afternoon for a half hour stretch break while the train re-supplied with water. The passengers were allowed to walk in a corridor up and down the tracks, a line of military police ensured no one tried to get away, although there was nowhere to go. Kenshin literally used the time to stretch, Cho beside him mimicking every move since they were stretches the kendo class often used. Within five minutes, every member of the kendo class on the train had formed up behind them and joined in. When Kenshin moved into the first _kata_ of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu using movements so slow and fluid that they seemed an extension of the stretches, no one questioned that he knew it. He'd been running them through it for four months, after all. When the first was done, he continued with the second, then the third, all with the same slow, balanced movements. Then he stopped.

"All I can do, folks," he said. "Keep going or find something else to do."

Sato, the highest rank of those present, elected to continue, as did most of the upper ranks. Lower ranks dropped out as they finished the last _kata_ they knew. Kenshin waited until Cho finished and then they started down the tracks after her family, Yuki, and Kisho. They reached them as the Fukuzaki boys jogged up talking about desert life, particularly rattlesnakes and scorpions. Typically, Cho was less than thrilled at the thought of running across either one and Hiroki couldn't wait to see them.

Getting back on the train was hard after having been off it. The only thing that made it any better were the crates of oranges and lemons had been loaded on during the break, with everyone free to eat as many as they liked. The Issei didn't care for them, but the children made up for what their elders didn't eat. Daisuke, Cho, and Kenshin ate oranges while Hiroki fed Tatsuya bits of lemon. The older boy peeled the fruit and alternately popped sections into his own mouth and handed sections to Tatsuya. The younger boy's eyes squeezed shut and he shook his head like a dog as he chewed, lips puckered tight, but as soon as he swallowed, he held his hand out for another section.

The second night was worse than the first. The cars continued to be hot and stuffy, and since no one had slept well the night before, they were even more restless and cranky on the second night. At two in the morning, someone called out that they were passing the Great Salt Lake, but in the darkness they could only hear the water, not see it. An hour later, they stopped at the station in Ogden to take on ice and water, and an hour after that they chugged slowly through Salt Lake City. The train stopped for good at eight o'clock in the sleepy town of Delta.

As they were ushered off the train and onto waiting buses, each internee was given two doubled-sided mimeographed sheets, the first edition of the _Topaz Times_, the camp's newsletter. Between the title words in smaller print it proudly proclaimed "Jewel of the Desert". The background was a line drawing of mountains, clouds, and tufts of grass, and centered in the words was a drawing of what appeared to be a square gem. It contained articles about the camp facilities, as they would exist when complete, where to go for assistance, where the water came from, and other information thought to be pertinent to the incoming residents.

"It figures it's not done yet," Kisho grumbled. "They're always in such a rush to push us around, they can't wait until things are finished and working right."

"That's our opportunity to make it work the way we want," Kenshin said.

"If we can get the materials."

Kenshin hid his smile in his book. He didn't think he'd even catch Kisho being optimistic.

"It looks prettier than Nevada and the northern part of the state," Masumi said, gazing out the window. Miles of glossy alfalfa fields stretched away from the road on either side.

A few more miles down the road, everything changed abruptly. The road went from tarred gravel to packed dirt pocked with the occasional hole and crossed by little dry washes. The bus slowed slightly, but it didn't make the ride smoother. The alfalfa fields disappeared and bare, grey-brown dirt dotted with greasewood stretched into the distance. In places, white patches of alkali appeared.

"So much for pretty," Yuki said.

"Whoa! Is that a dust devil?" Hiroki pointed out the window on his side of the bus. A column of dust had suddenly swirled up into the air and danced across the dry desert floor for a few seconds before collapsing. "That was just the keenest thing!"

Finally, what they took to be Topaz showed up on the horizon. There were several rows of low black barracks, a line of telephone poles along the road that ended at the camp, and a few white-sided buildings that they soon learned housed the administrative offices. Skeletons of more buildings showed behind the finished ones. Poking up above the level of the barracks, two square guard towers stood along a fence fronting the road. They passed one that was obviously the corner of the compound, a man peering down at the bus from his lofty height. Soldiers patrolled what fence they could see. There was not one green thing in sight, just some clumps of greasewood and silvery sagebrush outside the fence.

As the bus pulled up, they could hear a band playing a sprightly, patriotic tune, and through the gritty fog cast up by a sudden gust of wind, they could see a troop of Boy Scouts formed up and playing instruments, their khaki uniforms well-dusted with white. They were ushered into one of the black barracks as soon as they got off the bus. Just the short time they'd been outside had everyone blowing and sneezing.

The room was already a scene of ordered chaos from the busses that had disgorged passengers before them. A U-shaped arrangement of tables filled most of the room, and the internees stood patiently in lines waiting for one of the administrative staff to send another family out the door at the far end of the room and beckon the next family over.

"Niitsu-Himura? Here you are, family 19949. You're in Block 7, Number 12D." The woman helping them, forty-ish with a business-like attitude belied by a kind smile, pulled over a mimeographed map of the camp. She pointed at things with the end of her pencil as she talked. "We're here in the dining hall of Block 4. You'll want to go out that door and turn left, and then go straight down that road to the fourth cross street. This one will dead-end there and you'll turn left again. Go to the third pair of buildings and turn left up that sidewalk. You are the third apartment on the right building. This building here, you'll walk past it, is your block's dining hall, this pair of buildings behind it is the toilet-shower-laundry building, and this little one sitting by itself behind your building is the recreation hall. Mr. Ernst, the camp director, will meet you there tonight at seven o'clock to greet you, introduce the staff, answer your questions, and all."

She pointed out a few other features and ended with, "Once the baggage trucks get here, your luggage will be piled in front of Block 4's recreation hall, so you'll want to come back and check once you're settled to see if it's here yet." She handed Kenshin the map she'd been using.

The little family shuffled out the door with other families to be met with more wind and dust. Everyone was heading off in the same direction and Kenshin took that to mean that everyone in their group was housed in the same general area. He looked at the map in his hand and then across the barren landscape. It was likely that they were all in the same area because a lot of the camp was still under construction. Many of the buildings shown on the map weren't anywhere to be seen yet.

Each barrack was raised about eighteen inches off the ground, resting on blocks at the corners and where the interior walls hit the long front and back walls. There was a short step up to a platform-like porch in front of each of the six doors on the long front wall of each barrack, but no hand rails on the step or porch. There was a window to the right of each door: four nine-inch panes that formed a square. He could see two windows on the backs of the buildings, and each end apartment also had a window on the side wall. The walls were covered with black tar paper, with vertical two-inch battens helping to hold it to the wall against the prying fingers of the wind.

"It sure is ugly, isn't it?" Hiroki asked, suddenly appearing behind them.

"I was thinking 'bleak', but ugly fits, too," Kenshin said.

"I hate it already," Cho whispered, taking a tighter grip on Kenshin's hand. She had grabbed it as soon as he'd returned to them with the map and instructions and refused to let go, even though it made getting out the door harder.

"Aw, that's just because it's all new. Once you get to know it…you'll hate it even more," Hiroki said cheerfully.

"Thank you, Hiroki, that's a big help." Kenshin threw the teen a meaningful look that was either ignored or went over his head. "Where is your family going to be?"

"Block 7, Barrack 6, Apartment C, as they called it. Mother wants to know where you're going to be."

"We're in 12D, same block." Kenshin showed him the spot on the map.

"Oh, that's right across the yard from us. Okay. We'll check back to help once we see what we're working with. I've got to turn here." He waved and ran down a side street on their left.

They went another block, past the Block 7 Dining Hall. As the woman had said, the road they'd been on ended. Fifty feet from the rough edge of it, strands of barbed wire stretched across their way. They turned left and followed the directions. Nothing except the number painted onto the tar paper next to the door made it stand out from any other place. Kenshin opened the door and stepped inside, followed by the others.

The room was a twenty foot square. As they'd noticed from the outside, there were two windows on the back wall and one next to the door. The walls were about eight feet high, but didn't go all the way up to the ceiling rafters, and were dotted with knots. One bare bulb hung from the ceiling. Four metal cots leaned against one wall, and everything had a coating of dust. They could smell and even taste it as their gritty footsteps stirred it up.

Kenshin poked at one of the knots on the side wall and the little core of darker wood fell out onto the floor, leaving a hole into the next apartment. He picked it up and replaced it, noting the gaps between the floor boards.

"They built it out of green lumber and it's already shrinking as it dries," he said.

"It doesn't look green to me; it looks brown," Cho said.

Kenshin smiled. "It's not the color. It means they didn't dry the wood properly before building with it. When you cut a tree down to make boards out of it, there's a lot of water in it – that's what sap is, mostly. The lumber companies usually put it in a drying shed and the wood shrinks as it dries. That way when you build something with it, you don't get gaps like the floor has. But because of the war, all the dry wood is being used up quickly, so they have to use wood that's not really ready yet. Those gaps in the floor are probably how the dust got in."

"Well, it isn't a horse stall," Masumi said. "That's good. I'll start sweeping, if you give me the broom, and perhaps you can set up the cots and get the boys to help find mattresses."

"That sounds like a start," Kenshin agreed, setting down his pack and pulling out the broom and handle. Cho helped Kenshin with the cots as much as she could, and then sat on the edge of one watching her mother sweep when he left.

"They said it's an apartment, but it doesn't look like the one we had in San Francisco," Cho said. "There's no kitchen and no bathroom."

"No, that part is just like Tanforan. We have a latrine and a mess hall for those things." Masumi swept the broom gently across the floor, trying to move the dust without stirring it up.

They could hear other people moving about in the apartments on either side now, and the knot fell out of the hole and onto the floor again. When Cho picked it up to put it back, she found another eye peeking through it at her. She frowned and put the little piece of wood back into the wall, then marched back to her place on the cot.

"I hate this place," she announced, crossing her arms and glowering at the floor.

"Cho, your father would say to remember how your attitude reflects on us all. We must do the best we can as cheerfully as we can."

"But it's so ugly and bare…"

"But it doesn't smell like a horse. And look – I don't even need a dustpan. I can sweep the dust into the cracks in the floor and it goes outside."

Cho was about to protest that it would all just blow back in again – surely her mother knew that - but it struck her that her mother was doing just what Uncle Tom had said Cho should, weeks ago. Finding good things to balance the bad ones. Was there something good here? Something she could do to make things better? She couldn't see it. It just seemed like Topaz was going to be as bad as Tanforan but without the smell. It didn't take her long to realize that there were worse things than smell.

_Vocabulary_

_Japanese:_

_Hidari-naga – level swing to the left side of your opponent's body_

_Karatake – overhead strike_

_Go – a strategy game rather like checkers or Othello_

_Kata – a set of pre-determined movements in martial arts done in sequence to give the illusion of fighting and to perfect technique._

_Italian:_

_Bambino - baby boy_


	18. Chapter 18

_Apologies for the long hiatus from the story. The sad fact is that the busier I get at work and home, the less creative I feel, and I've felt run off my feet – particularly at work – for quite a while. I don't expect it to end soon, either, a piece of information that will probably keep my poor muse snuffling in the corner for a while longer. And no, I still don't own Kenshin, Highlander, or much of anything else._

Chapter 18 – Wherever You Are Is Home

Mid-September, 1942

It was a raid in the dark of night. Spotlights occasionally swept the scene in uneven intervals, but the raiders had either the luck or the skill to be behind a building every time it happened. In between those times, the night was pitch black. There was no moon, the stars were too far away to help, and the settlement had no street lights. It gave raiding a certain level of difficulty, but also increased the chances for success.

"Ouch! Oh, crap!"

The overly loud yelp and subsequent swearing were followed by a clatter of lumber and some scuffling. When the spotlights swept over the area a split second later, and then came back to focus on it, there was nothing to be seen except half a dozen eight foot long two-by-fours lying on the ground like giant pick-up sticks. The area was one of the open spaces that appeared regularly between the black hulks of the barracks, a kind of no-man's land cut by ditches that either carried or would carry water and sewer lines. This particular area had half-built as well as completed barracks standing in their regular rows.

The lights moved on. Nothing moved. The minutes ticked by. Suddenly the lights were back, not sweeping in but suddenly blazing. The two-by-fours still lay in their heap. A desert mouse stopped in its tracks, whiskers quivering, and then skittered across the barren soil to the shadows along one building. The lights swept away.

"Now?" A bare whisper.

"Go!"

Two bodies leaped out of one of the ditches, gathered up the lumber, and dashed behind a building. They were two blocks away before the lights returned.

"Mom! Open the door, quick!"

Yuki opened the apartment door and Hiroki stumbled inside, pushed by Daisuke and half a dozen two-by-fours. Yuki closed the door behind her as the boys set the wood down along one wall, adding to the stack already there.

"What took you so long? Where's your father?"

"Spotlights. We had to hide every time they came by. And then _somebody_ made all kinds of noise and the lights pinned us down for a few minutes." Daisuke shot a meaningful look at his brother.

"I stepped on something. It felt like a nail." Hiroki was sitting in the floor, pulling off his sneaker. "Look, I did!" He showed them the shoe with his finger poking out a hole in the bottom. There was a round spot of blood slowly growing on his sock.

"Get that sock off and let me take a look," Yuki ordered. "Daisuke, get a pan of water from the bucket. Hiroki, you were only supposed to bring home wood. What is all this dirt? We get enough blown in by the wind."

"That's where I hit the ground and rolled into the ditch after I stepped on the nail and dropped the wood." Hiroki pointed to his chest and shoulder first, and then his back. "That's where Daisuke landed on me when he jumped into the ditch to avoid the spotlights."

"You made for a soft landing," Daisuke said, setting the pan of water and a wash cloth beside his mother. "And I was in a bit of a hurry."

"Thanks. Ow! Geez, Mother, take it easy. I'd like a foot left when you're done."

"If I don't scrub this down, you might lose this foot. Daisuke, get the medicine kit."

"Lockjaw is a happy possibility," Daisuke said as his brother continued to whine.

Hiroki stuck his tongue out at his brother.

"Excellent riposte, Brother. I'll have to remember that next time in Debate Club."

"Stop it, you two. Where is your father?"

"Probably at Himura's. He and Mr. Niitsu were ahead of us."

"I didn't see them once we got out of the ditch." Hiroki's sentence ended with a hiss as his mother dabbed merthiolate into the wound.

"They probably kept moving since the lights were focused on us."

"I just wish the administration would give us what we need to partition these rooms without having to go steal it."

"Great, Mom, say that louder so everyone will know." Daisuke waved at the walls that only went partway to the roof.

"Everyone does know. Everyone else is doing it, too." Yuki wrapped her younger son's foot in gauze, muttering about the administration in Japanese.

Hiroki only understood parts of it, mostly because it consisted of his mother's favorite phrases for people who were lacking in wits, as well as other uncomplimentary things. None of those phrases were the kind of things he'd wanted to learn in the Japanese language classes that had been canceled in Tanforan. He'd actually been disappointed about the cancellation. There was a girl in his class he liked, but he'd found out through one of his friends that her parents thought he lacked personality because he didn't talk to them when he visited. The fact that they spoke little English and he spoke little Japanese apparently hadn't made a difference to them. He was still hoping to pick up enough to at least make small talk with them if he had another chance, but his parents were intermittent at best when it came to translating. New country, new language, no need for the old; that was their philosophy.

"There, done," Yuki said, tying off the gauze at the top of his foot. Hiroki eyed the knot with dismay.

"And how am I supposed to fit my shoe on over this?"

At that moment, Kisho opened the door and stepped inside.

"Finally, you made it back!" Yuki exclaimed, as if he'd been gone for weeks instead of just a few hours.

"Yes, no problems." He surveyed the stack of wood against the wall. "We think we have enough. I'm going to help Tom start framing tomorrow. What happened here?"

With all three of them telling him at once, Kisho still wasn't sure if he'd heard the whole story by the time they were done.

xxx

They started after breakfast. Kenshin and Masumi had drawn up a plan of two rooms to the right of the door and the back window, one for the children and one for Masumi and Sasuke, when he joined them. To the other side of the back window was one for Kenshin. The space under the window would hold a wash basin and pitcher. The rest of the front part of the apartment would be common space. There was already a hole in the ceiling for whenever the wood stove would be installed. They hoped it would be soon. It was already cold enough at night for the children to crawl into bed with the adults again.

"How did the boys do last night?" Kenshin asked as they laid out the lumber in the middle of the room. All the cots and luggage had been pushed against the walls and out of the way to give them as much room as possible.

"Got about half a dozen pieces and a nail in Hiroki's foot."

"How bad is it?"

"I don't think it went in very far but it's hard to tell. Yuki won't send him over to the hospital to get it looked at because she's afraid that somehow they'll know he got it stealing wood off the pile. Everyone is stealing wood off the pile and she admits it, and it's not like he couldn't have stepped on a nail out there doing anything else, but she still won't send him over. So she's acting like amputation is imminent and Hiroki's using it as an excuse to get out of housework."

Kenshin laughed. "Hard to judge, then, huh?"

"Yeah, and she keeps splashing that red stuff on it so even if it does get infected, we'll never know. It'll have to swell up to balloon size. She's already used up all the gauze we have. I think she was going to ask Masumi for some."

"He ought to just go in and say he stepped on it while playing ball. That's plausible. I'm sure he can pull it off with a straight face, too."

"He could. Daisuke couldn't. Hard enough to convince him to go out and raid the wood pile in the first place. Not that I didn't raise my kids to be honest, but there's honesty and then there's honesty," Kisho grumbled, nailing one of the uprights into the bottom of the frame. They were building the new wall on the floor, with the idea of raising it into place when it was done.

"Must be why there was that article in the _Times_ this morning about raids being unnecessary and plenty of wood will be provided for all our needs."

"Was there? I didn't get much past the politics by the time I was done with breakfast. Your buddy didn't win for Block Six representative."

"I saw that; the boys in Six have discriminating taste. I just hope that doesn't mean he takes to bothering us as something to do now that the campaigning is done."

"The other thing I noticed in the paper is that they're calling for farm workers both for here and away from here. You going to apply? That's close to gardening."

"Nope. I want to stay close, and sugar beet topping isn't my idea of a good time, no matter how necessary it is. It's just grunt work, not gardening. I thought I'd get on one of the sheetrock crews. That way I'm still within the boundaries of the town."

"Sounds a lot like work."

"I like building things, making people comfortable, prettying things up. What about you?"

"I thought maybe to get on the carpentry crew, so I could make tables and chairs for the school. They moved them all from Tanforan but there's still not enough. But it sounds like they'll have the crews concentrating on building more barracks first."

"And building the schools. They've only just started the elementary schools and the high school is still in the planning stage."

"Yeah, and I'm not real fond of climbing into the rafters and doing roofing. Can't handle the height. You ready to raise this thing?"

"Yep, let's stand it up."

They managed to get it upright and aligned along the pencil line Kenshin had marked out earlier with Masumi and Cho's help. Then Kisho held it steady while Kenshin nailed it into the floor. The lengths of wood were the same as for the initial construction, so it matched the sidewalls perfectly and fit under the existing rafters.

"Not going to have light in the bedrooms," Kisho observed.

"Can't be helped. They only give us one light in the middle of the ceiling, we do the best we can. Should be enough ambient light from each side coming in, and we'll only be in the bedrooms to sleep, anyway."

"So then I was thinking sheetrock crew, too," Kisho said, picking up where the earlier conversation had left off as they started another wall frame. "That way I might be able to influence getting my place done first."

Kenshin laughed. "We need to get your walls up, then."

"Yeah. And I can make sure Masumi's walls get up so you're not staring at her in her night clothes or anything."

"What? I don't… I wouldn't…"

"I want to keep the looking to a minimum. Now that there's no stall door to close between you."

"I don't look," Kenshin said with as much dignity as he could muster. That would be like, looking at your daughter or sister or, heck, she was his granddaughter-in-law or some such thing and that was just…so far beyond anything Kenshin had ever been taught was right or good or acceptable. "It's not right," he said firmly, slanting Kisho a sideways look from under lowered lashes. Many years earlier, that look would have been accompanied by the _snick_ of a sword being loosened in its scabbard. Now he had to rely on the look being enough. Kisho, however, was much more oblivious to the danger than the patriots of the Kohagi Inn had been and continued nailing an upright to the baseboard.

"Yeah, I knew, or Sasuke wouldn't have trusted you with his family. He's uncanny like that – Sasuke just seems to know who the good ones are. But it's fun watching you turn redder than your hair," Kisho snickered. "Which is getting redder, by the way."

"Yeah, I know it. All the sun is bleaching it out, despite my hat."

"Don't know why you bother dying it anymore. Everyone knows."

"I like it better when it's brown. It's never been a good thing to stick out too much, you know. The nail that sticks up gets hammered," Kenshin said, suiting action to words. The sun did fade the color a lot, but it still wasn't as red as it could be. He was hoping Fitz would send another care package soon, although the men did complain about the stink in the shower building. It was far more noticeable now that there were no stables to blame the ammonia on.

The walls were framed and secured by the time the rest of the family came home. Masumi arrived first with Cho and Tatsuya in tow, followed by Daisuke a few minutes later. Masumi set her laundry basket on one of the cots and surveyed the room.

"It looks like you've had a productive day."

"Ready for the sheetrock when it comes," Kisho said, putting away the last of the tools as Kenshin chased a giggling Tatsuya in and out through the framed walls.

"Daisuke, where's your brother?"

"On his way. He's not hobbling too fast."

"Did you two get registered for school?" Kisho asked.

"All done. If we get a school."

"You'll be in the various rec buildings until then. They're following Utah state rules, and they're not going to hold off waiting for the buildings to be built." Kisho shook his head. "That's a weird English thing. Once they're done, why are they still called buildings? Wouldn't they be builts?"

"There's a whole lot of English that doesn't make logical sense. I keep asking Fitz to explain it, since he speaks the original version, but he can't, so we're just stuck wondering." Kenshin paused in the chase in tug Cho's ponytail. "What about you, Cho-chan? All set?"

"Yes. They said it's going to be two blocks south of here when it gets built."

"They're starting on it next week," Masumi added. "I've got Tatsuya registered for pre-school; they're going to hold it in Rec 13 in the mornings. If he settles down, I might be able to do classes in home economics while he's there, so I registered as a substitute teacher."

"Finally going to put that degree to use, eh?" Kisho asked.

"If I can get someone to be a little more social, yes. He's getting better."

The door opened and Hiroki stepped in, using his shortened rake handle as a walking stick.

"Finally made it. How's the foot?" Kisho eyed his younger son.

"Hurts. No big deal." Hiroki shrugged. "Kinda expect that."

"You going to do kendo practice?" Kenshin asked, picking up Cho's broom handle and poking her with it gently. She tried to wrap her arm around it and yank him closer, like he'd taught them, but he was ready for it and didn't let her.

"Of course."

Kenshin threw a humorous look at Kisho, who just rolled his eyes. "Then let's go, kids. It's getting close to four o'clock. Kish, we'll work on your place tomorrow."

During class, Kenshin worked the students on basics, keeping an eye on Hiroki to assess his ability. Somewhere in the middle of the basic movements, when Kenshin had them doing strikes and blocks as they marched to his count down the dusty street, Hiroki appear to forget his injury and Kenshin didn't see a limp out of him for the rest of the night. Even when he had Sato and Yamaguchi "helping" him devise attack and counter-attack movements, Hiroki didn't falter.

"So, Hiroki, how's the foot?" Kenshin asked as they reached the barrack the Himura apartment was in.

"Oh, um, not too bad," Hiroki said, remembering to limp.

Daisuke snorted, but said nothing as they halted at the door and Cho went inside.

"Good," Kenshin said, patting him on the shoulder and favoring him with a wide, innocent smile. "I'm sure your mother will appreciate your help tomorrow. Good night."

xxx

Mid-November, 1942

In the two months since people had started arriving at Topaz, the empty spot in the desert had turned into a small, thriving city. It was square, a mile on each side, and comprised of forty-two blocks. Two were taken up by elementary schools, one on the west side and one on the east, and a four-block complex in the center comprised the high school and its associated athletic fields. Administration buildings, the hospital, residences for the Caucasian staff, and the military police headquarters were all located north of the northern row of blocks, and south of the southern row was an open space where industrious residents had built a skating pond. West of the residential blocks were the power plant and sewage treatment area, which caused no end of stink when the wind blew from that direction. That was almost all the time, but still to be preferred over the wind from the north. Those winds brought choking dust storms, similar to the one that had greeted them on the first day.

The beginning of October had seen the arrival of a group from Santa Anita Racetrack. The middle of that month had seen the last of the families from Tanforan transferred to Topaz, with only a few families opting to go to other camps in an attempt to bring extended families closer together. All told, the city was almost eight thousand people strong, which created its own set of problems, particularly in the area of housing. There weren't enough small units for young couples or bachelors, and the newly appointed city councilmen scrambled to put together committees to handle that and a host of other projects. Roads were wetted down to keep down the dust, boardwalks were being built, coal hauled, workers gathered up to get the city's fledgling farms up and running and to work elsewhere in the western agricultural industry. Petty crimes were common, and several of the older kendo students volunteered for a city-wide "Peace Patrol", being extra eyes and ears for the police. Chiura Obata revived his art school in Rec 7 and offered classes for children and adults in everything from graphic design to fine art to drafting, and even classes in work-working, quilting, and anything else artistic anyone was qualified to teach. On Friday and Saturday nights, movies and dances could be found at a number of recreation halls. Slowly, Topaz began to look and feel like almost any other American town, except that its residents were predominantly Japanese and most American towns weren't surrounded by barbed wire fences with guard towers at the corners. Still, during daylight hours, people came and went freely through the gate to work on the city farm or to wander through the desert in search of plants, stones, or interesting twists of dried wood to make unique front door gardens to personalize their barracks.

Kisho volunteered to help with some of the committees, as well as work on the construction crew, thriving in finally being able to contribute to his city's government. Yuji continued to teach ikebana, and Masumi picked up some substitute teaching days as Tatsuya began to realize that daycare could actually be fun. Kenshin worked with the construction crew as they moved from sheetrock to finishing work in the schools, and led the kendo class three evenings a week after supper. The children all went back to school, and the hour or two between the end of school and supper was filled with homework and, for the boys, sports. Hosokawa made no more overt moves towards either of the Himura children, seeming content with trying to get into the political scene. He was on several committees, but other than that, spent a lot of time with some of the other bachelors from Tanforan and Santa Anita at the rec halls instead of working a steady job. Kenshin, Masumi, and the Fukuzakis insisted that all the children walk to and from school together, although Masumi walked with them to drop Tatsuya off at daycare. When they came back to the dining hall for lunch, she met them and the little boy spent the rest of the afternoon with her, since daycare was only half the day. When Daisuke got chosen for the football team, it was only Hiroki and Cho walking together in the afternoon.

"Hey, Fukuzaki, wait up!" The voice belonged to Henry, one of the runners Hiroki had worked with in Tanforan.

Hiroki stopped at the end of the boardwalk that ran down to the street from the elementary school door. Cho was already halfway down the boardwalk on her way to him.

"I need your help. That bastard Nakagone…" Henry stopped abruptly, peering around Hiroki at Cho as she stopped at his side.

"Geez, Fukuzaki, is she always with you? You guys dating or something? She's a bit young."

"Shove off, Henry. Our folks are friends and her mom is worried about her. They don't want Yellow-teeth stalking her again."

"So, they think a freshman's going to stop him if he comes after her?"

Hiroki bristled. "I can do some damage."

"Yeah, sure." Henry finally addressed Cho directly. "Look, can you scram so I can talk to him? I don't want this to get around."

Cho scowled. "Mom says I can't walk home alone," she said mulishly.

"Then why doesn't that red-haired guy she's shacking up with come get you? He does other stuff with you."

"Uncle Tom," Hiroki enunciated carefully, "is working on the construction crew with my dad."

"Uncle. Right."

Hiroki mentally counted two numbers for every finger he unclenched from his fist.

"Look, Cho, why don't you walk on ahead? This won't take too long and you'll still be in my sight, and then I'll catch up."

Cho sniffed and turned away, heading slowly for home.

"Henry, you really are an ass," Hiroki said, when she was barely out of earshot.

"What? Never mind. I've got a real problem here. That Nakagone and his buddies shook me down yesterday for the book money Mrs. Scofield wanted me to take over to the Admin offices. It's almost a hundred bucks!"

"You're looking remarkably unscathed for putting up such a fierce defense."

"There was three of them. I followed them, though, and saw where they put it. It's in Rec 33 between the rafters, but I can't get up in there. The space is too small."

"Rec 33? That's where the church people meet, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but only until 4:30. All the Santa Anitans go to dinner between 5 and 7, and then the mob guys take over the Rec center. Of course, they don't say they're the mob, but none of the decent guys go over to play mah jong there. I figure we can go in while everyone's at dinner and no one will know."

Hiroki considered, glancing around to check Cho's progress. She'd already crossed Topaz Avenue, which was the north side of the school block, and was continuing up Willow Street towards their block. He didn't owe Henry anything and was under absolutely no obligation, but it sure would be fun to tweak the noses of those Santa Anita boys who thought they were so tough. He'd already had a few run-ins with them over their hazing of a couple of the smaller freshmen.

"So, tomorrow? Teach is going to ask me about the money soon, I'm sure, and I don't want to say I lost it."

Hiroki almost missed what Henry was saying. Something wasn't right. The air felt strangely oppressive for early November. He lifted his eyes above the rooftops. A large, dirty grey cloud was looming up over the camp.

"Crap! Dust storm! Tomorrow sounds good, Henry. See you!" He tore out of the schoolyard and pelted up the street towards Cho's distant figure. She apparently hadn't noticed the storm. He called her name, but she didn't hear him over the rising wind. He was almost to Topaz Avenue when it hit.

xxx

Cho fumed as she stalked home. Was there anything more humiliating? She really hated Henry. She knew all the girls in her class giggled and whispered when they saw her waiting for Hiroki or Daisuke to walk her home. She wouldn't wait for the boys at all except that Mama and Uncle Tom insisted, and she knew neither boy really wanted to walk home with her. Fourth grade was a long way from high school. It was only a couple of blocks. She wasn't a baby needing to be walked home. And she didn't know what shacking up meant, but the way Henry had said it, it sounded dirty. She tucked her chin into her muffler as the wind picked up, and then used the end to wipe away the tears that were freezing onto her face. She hated the sharp bite of the wind. Fall seemed much colder and darker here in Utah than it had ever been in San Francisco.

The first blast almost took her off her feet and peppered her with fine grains of sand. Then the dust storm really hit, rolling over her in a choking grey cloud. The buildings on either side of her instantly disappeared and Cho dropped her book bag as she struggled to pull her muffler up over her nose. In less than a minute, she was struggling to breathe. She knelt down to find her bag and stuffed the spilled books back into it, unmindful of the papers that blew away. Then she ran down the road, head ducked, trying to find the cross street that led to Block 7. All the ground looked the same, and all the air around her, too, just a whirling mass of grey that stung the eyes and legs and clogged the muffler against her nose.

'Stupid Cho! You should have gone behind Block 14 instead of between it and 13. Then you'd have the wind at your back and the fence would keep you from going too far. Then you could follow the fence most of the way home.'

It was still a good plan if she could just find the cross street, but she wasn't sure where she was anymore. The wind blew her in all directions, it seemed. When the dark bulk of a building loomed up on her left, she stumbled up to it gratefully, fumbling around the corner to the door. It didn't matter whose apartment it was, she was going to beg for admittance until the storm was over. It wasn't an apartment, though. The sign over the door said "Recreation Hall 6". That was good; the doors to the recreation halls were always unlocked. She shoved it open and practically fell inside.

Inside the building was as grey as the outside, and with only slightly less grit. There was a clatter of things clicking together a little ahead of her and to the right, and some scraping noises. Footsteps got closer. Cho wiped out her eyes with the end of her muffler and pulled it away from her face to breathe.

She got a deep breath of cigarette smoke, and something under it that smelled like the sewer plant when the wind blew from the west.

"Well, what have we here?" The speaker, on her left, was a young man but older than Daisuke. She supposed, from talk overheard from the bigger girls, that he was fashionably handsome, with long hair falling into his eyes. His suit was casual, loosely cut, no tie, and the shirt collar spread open, but his eyes were too fresh and his smile too easy. He took a drag on the cigarette held negligently between his fingers and blew the smoke out in a lazy stream, adding to the fug in the room.

The implications of the place sunk in with a queasiness that wasn't just from the smell. Rec. 6 was where the bachelors hung out, and at this time, just after school, it was all the young bachelors who didn't work. She'd heard they spent most of their time gambling, playing pool, and drinking, and she knew that neither Uncle Tom nor Mr. Fukuzaki thought much of that. She edged back against the door.

"She's younger than what we usually get," another man said from in front of her. The smell of the sewer got stronger.

"The young ones are trainable," said the fresh one on her left.

"Why, it's our little butterfly, come to visit! I was telling you gents about her."

On her right, around the end of the pool table, was Hosokawa. He was holding a pool cue in one hand and took a drink of something from the mug in his other hand. Now she knew where the sewer smell was coming from.

She bolted, yanking the door open again and trying to dive out into the dust storm, only to be pulled up short by the strap of her book bag. The fresh young man held it, laughing at her.

"What, leaving so soon? We hardly got to know you."

Without thinking, Cho pulled against the strap, using the resistance for balance, and drew her knee up and across her body before driving the heel of her foot into the side of the fresh man's kneecap. She felt it pop under her shoe and he screamed as she was suddenly turned loose. She stumbled down the steps, managed to land on her feet, and ran in the direction she knew Block 7 must be. Then she ran into another male body. As the arms closed around her, she pinned her chin to her shoulder and letting her knees sag until she slithered out of his grasp. Then she stood up, swinging the book bag at his head with all her might. He barely managed to block it with one arm, so she turned and stomped on his foot as hard as she could. When he bent over with a gasp of pain, she drove her fist into his eye.

"Ow! Hey! Cho, stop, it's me, Hiroki!"

That finally got through to her.

"Hiroki?" Now that she took a moment to look, it really was him. The dust storm was letting up, too, making it easier to see.

"What are you doing out here? I thought you were talking with Henry."

"I was looking for you. I didn't want you getting lost and having your mom worried. Geez, what set you off?" He dabbed at his eye with the cuff of his flannel shirt. At least it was watering enough to wash the dust away.

"I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, yeah. Cho, you gotta look first, remember? You can't just go around punching people."

"I said I'm sorry."

"Aw, let's go home. I bet I'm going to have a shiner. And don't you dare tell anyone you hit me. I'll have to make up something good for this."

"But I did hit you." Cho picked up her bag and fell into step next to him.

"You think I want everyone in camp to know a nine year old girl can beat me up? Geez, if I hadn't blocked your bag, you'd have laid me out cold!"

"How many times am I supposed to say I'm sorry?"

"I'll let you know."

They trudged the last few feet in silence. Hiroki paused in front of his door.

"You want to come in?"

"No. I can see 12 from here so I won't get lost again and Mama's probably worried." She crunched away across the gravel path as Hiroki mounted the steps and then turned.

"I really am sorry."

Hiroki squinted at her for a moment and then waved her off. "Go home," he said, and opened the door.

When she reached her own apartment, it was to find her mother sweeping the dust and Uncle Tom with his jacket on, feet shoved into unlaced boots, just on the other side of the door. He'd obviously been reaching for the knob when she came in.

"I'm okay," she said. "Hiroki and I made it through."

She thought, perhaps, that Uncle Tom looked at her a little oddly, but he didn't say anything.

"What are you doing home already?" Cho asked, kicking off her shoes and heading for her room to put the books away.

"We knocked off early. Ran out of sheetrock. Let's get ready for dinner; remember we have class tonight."

xxx

With school and bad weather, kendo practice had moved to the gym of the high school. Hiroki arrived at the last minute, barely skittering into line as Kenshin called everyone to order. He already had a small purple oval under his eye where Cho had struck him, but no one had time to comment on it. Kenshin worked them all hard, running through all the basic movements, single and paired forms, self defense with and without the sticks, and a series of combined attack and counter attack maneuvers that all agreed afterwards bordered on the diabolical. They couldn't wait to do more. All through the basics, Kenshin had Yamaguchi and Sato, the two most experienced, critique the positions of the lower-ranked to make sure that each participant performed as close to the established standards as possible.

No one but Cho seemed to notice that whenever Kenshin ordered the class to pair up, Hiroki got as far from her as he reasonably could. She affected not to notice and worked with Emiko Watanabe, the only other girl in the class, but it distracted her and she made plenty of mistakes. It caused Emiko to hiss at her and Kenshin to glance her way more often than usual.

After the class, Kenshin sent the Fukuzaki boys home on their own and conferred with Yamaguchi and Sato over the effectiveness of the workout and whether the students were bored without the introduction of new material. Both men assured him that although the moves weren't new, the combination of techniques during the attack and counter-attack portion was and that kept everyone's interest high. Cho stood beside him as he bid the men and their children good night, but he surprised her by not following them out of the gym. Instead, he turned back into the room and checked behind the first tier of bleacher seats to make sure nothing was left behind. Cho sat on the end of one bench and waited until he came back.

"Sit down," he said when she stood up, and she obeyed, looking wide-eyed up at him.

"Did you and Hiroki fight about something?"

"No."

"Then why was he working so hard to stay away from you and why does he have a mouse on his cheekbone?"

"A mouse?"

"The bruise. Half an inch higher and he'd have a black eye. And you have been favoring your hand and lying to me."

"I'm not lying," she said, flushing.

"There, you just did it again. Cho, I can tell. Remember in Tanforan when Hosokawa grabbed you and you said you could feel me? You knew I was there? All hot and sharp, you said. I can feel you, too, and since this afternoon, you've been all musty and stale. You're lying and you're guilty about something, and it was strongest right after you came in from the storm and every time you looked at Hiroki. And before you came in from the storm, I felt panic. That's why I was ready to go out when you came in. What's going on?"

Cho was silent, concentrating. "I can't feel you now," she said finally.

"That's because I'm not letting you and don't try to distract me. Answer the question."

Cho stared at the floor and related the afternoon's events, stumbling over what happened in Rec 6. Kenshin didn't say a word.

"…And then he yelled at me and said I had to look before I hit people and he's right and I'm sorry and I said so, but he's still mad at me," she finished, silent tears running down her cheeks. "And neither of them want to walk with me to school anyway. I always feel like I'm in the way. And Henry said bad things about you and Mama and I was so mad. I should have hit _him_."

Kenshin looked up at the ceiling rafters and took a deep breath, letting it out on a silent sigh.

"Cho, hitting people isn't the answer to anything. I will say that your reactions in Rec 6 were right and well done given the circumstances. But don't you ever, ever, hide something like that from me again. I cannot protect you if I don't know what's going on. Haven't I said that before? How do I look your father in the eye if I could have kept you from harm and didn't?"

"I'm sorry." Cho lifted her head. "Uncle Tom? I can feel you now. You're hot and…like vinegar."

"That's because I'm letting you. The hot is angry, the vinegar is disappointment."

"Oh." She looked down at the floor again. "I'm not doing anything right anymore."

"No, you're doing a lot of things right; you're just missing some of the important ones. Think first, Cho. Look. And don't be afraid of telling me what's going on. I will help if I can. I certainly will help if it protects you and your family. Come on, now, we have to get back or your mother will start to worry about what's keeping us."

Cho walked silently beside him as he locked up the school and they headed home, despondency coming off her in waves, and he could only hope he hadn't been too harsh. She took everything too much to heart and it was hard to find the line between discipline and breaking her spirit.

xxx

Hiroki walked Cho home the next day without saying more than five words to her. She didn't seem to be inclined to talk either, and he wondered what Uncle Tom had said to her after kendo class, but he was still mad about the mouse she'd given him so he didn't ask.

That task completed, he returned to the high school to shoot hoops with Henry and some of the other guys until it was time to head over to Rec 33. They could hear a lively clatter from the mess hall and even from the showers and laundry, but no one was near the recreation building and they skimmed easily through the door.

"It's back here," Henry said, leading the way towards the end of the building where the religious items stood upon a table shoved against a wall.

The embroidered cloth that had covered the items had slipped down, exposing a fancy silver cup, a statue depicting three figures on crosses on a hill, and a many-branched candelabra. A sad-eyed Jesus stared out from a picture leaning against the wall, and something about it made the short hairs on the back of Hiroki's neck prickle. Even after he'd passed it, it seemed those eyes were still contemplating him.

"See that black space?" Henry pointed to a spot just above where the rafters met the sidewall. "It's a hole, and the box is tucked in there."

On most of the wall, a block of wood had been cut to extend the wall up to the slanting roof, but in this one, two shorter pieces had been used, with a gap between them. Glancing at the opposite wall, Hiroki could see several places where oddly-sized lumber had been used to try to block the space.

"Okay, boost me up and let's get on with it. We haven't got much time. It's getting dark already."

Henry laced his hands together and lifted the younger boy up as Hiroki stepped into them. A foot on Henry's shoulder and Hiroki was able to lever himself up onto a beam.

Just feeling into the space got him nothing. Below him, Henry was saying in an irritated hiss:

"You gotta almost crawl in. That's what I saw them do. They had that freshman with all the pimples do it. That's why I thought of you – you're about his size."

"Great. I hope size is the only way I look like him," Hiroki muttered. He had to turn almost sideways and wiggle a bit, but he managed it and one searching hand found what felt like a cigar box. When he wriggled out again, Henry was near the window. Hiroki could only tell by the silhouette against the paler glass. The room was almost completely dark.

"There might be someone coming. I keep seeing a flashlight waved around, and you wouldn't need one yet to go to the showers or barracks." Henry turned away from the window.

The cigar box was tied closed with a string, so Hiroki shoved it into the front of his shirt and swung by his hands from the beam, dropping to the floor with a muffled thud.

"Let's go," he said.

From the doorway, they saw no one. The bouncing light of the flashlight and boisterous male voices were getting louder and closer.

"Let's split up," Hiroki suggested as they ran for the corner of the building. "If they see us, it'll be fewer following each of us. We might be able to lose them better."

"Meet me at the Admin Building. They don't close until six and I want to get the money in before I get shook down again."

"Right."

The flashlight came around the corner of 33-12 just as Hiroki ducked around the corner of Rec 33. Henry, a little slower, was half a step behind him but was seen, evidenced by a shout and running feet.

"Man, they're touchy," Hiroki said. "See ya!" He poured on speed, angling towards the rec hall of Block 26, past the laundry building, and weaving his way through the people still waiting in line to get into the mess hall. He did the same in reverse through Block 11, but slowed to a jog to be less noticeable. It might have been quicker to cut across the high school grounds since there were fewer buildings and people there, but it was more exposed and Hiroki wanted people around to break up the straight lines of the buildings and streets. It didn't seem like anyone was following him.

He reached the administration buildings first. After checking it out to see if Henry was there, he crouched down on an end away from the town and under a window where he could see reasonable well. He pulled the cigar box from under his shirt, where the thing had bounced the whole way. It worried him that he hadn't heard a noise from it despite the jostling.

'What a fine mess that would be,' he thought, 'if we did all this for an empty box. We'll never get a chance to look for another.'

Tension made his fingers clumsy at the knot and he wished he had a pocketknife like Uncle Tom's. It would have parted that string like it was no thicker than a hair. Finally, he had it loose enough he could pull it off and he opened the lid, which had raised slightly once the string was off.

The box was stuffed with bills. Bills of many denominations, some of which he'd only ever heard of before and never dreamed he'd ever hold. Mostly, though, they were small – ones, fives, and tens, but a lot of them. He made a quick count and the final tally astounded him.

"Fukuzaki?" Henry's voice, quietly, from around the front of the building.

"Here," he said, or tried to. His throat felt tight and dry and he had to clear it and repeat himself, matching Henry's volume.

"Did we get it?"

"Did we ever. Crap, Henry, this must be all their gambling money. There's almost a thousand dollars in here."

Henry swore. "Who'd have thought they'd have so much, or keep it all in the same place? All I want is the five seventy-five they took from me for the book club."

"You'll have to break a one; there's no change in here." Hiroki dug out six dollars and handed it over. "Go pay for the books and then we'll figure out what to do with this."

"I don't want the mob mad at me," Henry said when he returned. "But there's no way to get it back to them. They'll be watching Rec 33, and Nakagone knows it's me."

"Did he catch you?"

"No, but he called my name."

"Did you turn and look at him?"

"Hell, no. I was too busy laying tracks and jumping ditches."

"Then he doesn't know for sure. When he confronts you tomorrow – and he will – act confused."

Henry sighed and shook his head. "It won't help. What do we do with this? Maybe we should turn it in."

"How do we explain where we got it? 'Gosh, it was just laying in the street' isn't going to work. Saying we raided the rafters in the religious building isn't going to sound good either."

"Then what do you think?"

"I don't know. Let me work on it."

Neither boy could come up with a satisfactory resolution. Finally, they tried to bury it in the loose dirt near the foundation of the admin building, but the ground was too frozen already to make a hole deep enough and they had no tools. In the process, one of the metal grates in the concrete foundation came loose and they tucked the box inside next to the wall, replacing the grate carefully.

Aware of time passing and the possibility of dinner getting more and more remote, they split to wash up and get to their respective mess halls and try to look, if not completely innocent, then at least not guilty of anything involving large sums of money.

xxx

Sasuke answered Bert Fraser's summons with a mixture of emotions that included hope, trepidation, and embarrassment. He wasn't proud of the breakdown he'd had the last time he'd been in this office nor the depression that had followed, but after Carlo's last pep talk, he'd really tried to do better. One thing at a time, focus, do the best you can; how many times had he heard that from his father and Myojin-sensei?

He had focused again on writing letters to let his friends on the outside know how he was and to continue to write letters of support to the review board. The board was supposed to be in the camp this month; he had to have support from his friends outside and he had to show he was a model citizen, both when he'd been outside and now that he was in Fort Missoula. He worked out, led the exercise classes, and helped translate letters and forms for the other men who didn't read English. He did his work detail in the camp, alternately cleaning the bathhouse and the cafeteria as the schedule went, and even spent several weeks on a work detail outside of the camp, building a trail up to a high knoll that was inaccessible by road. Once the trail was complete, mule teams packed in supplies and the crew built a fire observation tower, bolting together pre-cut lumber according to a government engineer's plan. It had been had physical labor, but at 32, Sasuke had been one of the younger members of the crew and he had found it immensely satisfying to see the completed structure standing sentinel, waiting only for its equipment and a watcher to protect the surrounding forest. The crew had ridden the bus back to the camp singing, but the song had died out by the time they passed the gates of Fort Missoula. It was depressing to go from their wilderness tent camp to barracks surrounded by barbed wire.

Nelson showed him into Fraser's office and the camp director met him with a smile and a handshake. They talked casually about the camp for a few minutes before Fraser asked:

"So which do you want first? The good news or the bad?"

"I don't know. I guess it's best to know the bad news up front."

"Somehow, I thought you'd say that," Fraser nodded. "You're a guy who likes to take care of business first and relax later. So here's the bad news – I got word today that the Review Board isn't stopping here this month after all. Maybe February or March, they said. For one reason or another, they're going to Washington State first, although I think their entire schedule falls under the heading 'Subject to Change Without Notice'."

"Oh." Sasuke couldn't think of anything else to say. Once again, all the letter writing and postcards had been for nothing. If the board wasn't coming until next year, it was another Christmas away from his family, another New Year, what else? He'd already missed Tatsuya's _Shichi Go San_, if they had celebrated it. None of Masumi's recent letters had mentioned it, only that Cho had refused to dress up for Halloween. Maybe those letters hadn't arrived yet. He had noticed that sometimes they got crossed in the mail or held up by the censors.

"But there is a bright side," Fraser said, not letting him wallow in self-pity too long. "I did say there was good news." He reached into his center desk drawer and pulled out a letter, leaning across the desk to offer it to Sasuke. "Congratulations, you're going to Utah."

"What?"

"Apparently they got enough complimentary letters and pleas that they decided to fore-go the hearing and let you join your family. You'd better get your gear together; you'll have to leave pretty early tomorrow morning."

Sasuke didn't really remember leaving the office. He knew he got to the kitchen to tell Carlo and had been jumping around so much that the vibrations had made the cakes in the oven fall, but if anyone had minded the flat cakes, he never heard about it. The big Italian had hugged him and kissed both his cheeks and then sent him out the door to pack. The next morning, as he stood with the MP's waiting for transport to the train, Carlo had come out of the kitchen with a cloth-wrapped bundle and pressed it into his hands.

"So's you have something to eat while you travel," he said. "You write me letters."

"I will," Sasuke promised. When he opened the bundle on the train, enticed by the scent wafting out of it, it was to find several of Carlo's big, sweet, bread rolls stuffed with chunks of pepperoni freshly baked that morning. They made a good second breakfast as well as lunch.

Sasuke was exhausted by the time the train arrived in Delta and he climbed onto the waiting bus. They'd ridden the train all day and night and into the next morning. He leaned back in the corner of his seat and rested his head against the windowpane as the other men who had traveled with him settled into their seats, suitcases on the floor at their feet. When the bus started, he had to straighten up. The ride was so stiff that the window threatened to knock him unconscious if he didn't.

'Well,' he mused, 'Utah isn't as pretty as Montana. So dry and brown-looking. The mountains are so far away, and dry and brown-looking, too.' In Montana, the aspens had turned gold, their coloring dramatic against the dark green spruce and fir. Once they got out of town, there was little vegetation that he could see. Little of anything, except dry, brown open space, dotted with greasewood and sage. When the buildings showed up on the horizon, the things that made them stand out most were the rigid lines of human construction and their black tar paper sides. There were a few people milling near the gate as the bus pulled up, and Sasuke's heart began to quicken in anticipation. His eyes restlessly searched among the people there, but he didn't recognize anyone.

He got off the bus with the rest, suitcase in one hand and his coat folded over his other arm. They were shuffled into an administrative office to hand over papers and get a quick health check before they were allowed to go out another set of doors. Sasuke could hear the squeals of joy and welcome as each man's family greeted him when he emerged from the offices. Then it was Sasuke's turn to go out the doors and there was Masumi holding Tatsuya against one hip and Cho holding Tom's hand and bouncing on her toes with eagerness. He heard her squeal "Daddy!", saw Tom's grin as she tore away from her "uncle" to give him a hug, but the only face that mattered was Masumi's. Her calm smile, the light in her eyes…that was his whole world. He dropped suitcase and coat into the fine dust to wrap his arms around his family and hold on to them.

"_Tadaima_," he murmured.

"It's not much of one," Masumi choked.

"Doesn't matter. Wherever you are is home."

***

_A/N: Shichi Go San – literally seven five three, a traditional festival for boys and girls of three, boys of five, and girls of seven. Japanese numerology holds odd numbers as lucky, and according to Wikipedia (which may or may not have it right, but it sounds good!) three was the age at which samurai children of the Heian period were allowed to grow out their hair; at five, boys could finally wear hakama; and girls of seven replaced the simple cords which tied their kimono closed with the traditional obi. This was a rite of passage that celebrated middle childhood, and through time, spread to all the other social classes._


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – Fights and Games

When he finally came to the realization that there were other people trying to get past them to greet their own family members, Sasuke reluctantly let go of his own, taking Tatsuya from Masumi. Their son was getting too big for her to carry easily. In fact, Sasuke was surprised by how much both children had grown in almost a year, although they both looked thinner than he'd expected. While Tatsuya retained some baby fat, Cho's face looked even pointier than usual, her jawbone now strongly defined. Masumi, too, was thinner than he ever remembered seeing her, even before they were married. Everyone was much browner, too, but he supposed that the same could be said of himself. He'd spent more time outdoors in the past year than he had since he'd left home for college.

"So where do we live?" he asked, deciding to ignore the issue of weight for the moment and scanning the ebbing crowd for Tom. He owed a great debt to that man. "And where's Tom? I just saw him with you."

"He was just…I don't know." Masumi looked around also. "He was here. Maybe he went back already. It is crowded here, and I've noticed he doesn't care for crowds." She bent to pick up his coat, brushing it with her other hand to get the dust off it, before giving up and folding it over her arm. The air was full of dust anyway – it would never come out of his coat just by brushing at it. She wrapped her other arm around his free one and tugged him gently in the direction she wanted him to go. "We'll give you the penny tour on the way to our barrack."

As they walked down the street, Sasuke realized that the layout of the place was virtually identical to the Fort Missoula camp. He decided that he wouldn't have much trouble finding his way around. Cho skipped ahead of them, running back whenever she had something of importance to point out to him – her art classroom, her regular school room and the gym at the high school where they did kendo class, the various barracks where all the different churches met, their mess hall, the laundry room she got stuck in during a dust storm on the way home from school the first day. She didn't mention the most recent storm.

"And the one lady pulled wet pillow cases out of her basket and we held them up to our noses so we could breathe," she chattered. "She had to wash them again anyway. The dust came right through the walls and it was all over everything. When I finally got home, Mama said I looked like I'd been rolling in a flour bin."

"Do these happen often?" he asked, concerned. "If it's hard to see during them, don't people get lost?"

"They happen often enough, but no one's gotten lost yet. The buildings are close enough, and if nothing else, the fence around the town does serve one helpful purpose. Everyone hates it and what it represents, but at least no one gets lost in a dust storm," Masumi said, making a face. "Usually you can tell when they're coming because it suddenly gets very warm and a big black cloud builds in the west. That's when you look for a building to get into, or if you're close enough, run for home. It could last ten minutes or it could be hours, and you never know how long it will be when it starts. Tom said if they hadn't used a bulldozer all over the ground before they built the place, it wouldn't be quite so bad, but they scraped off all the plants and now we can't get any to grow. The soil is too alkaline and too fine. Dust storm or not, you can't keep anything clean. The slightest breath of wind and dust flies everywhere. On the plus side, it's very easy to wash clothes. Just the smallest bit of soap lathers right up. Since the dust makes us do so much laundry all the time, I guess that's compensation."

She grinned up at him, wrinkling her nose the way she did when she was tickled by something, and he marveled at her lack of rancor. And then mentally slapped himself for marveling – as if he didn't know the woman he'd married. Masumi had always seen adversity as a challenge to be overcome. It was one of the reasons he loved her so, and one of the reasons he'd suggested moving to America all those years ago. Nothing would keep her down, ever.

"So what's this I hear about you not dressing up for Halloween?" he asked Cho, setting a squirming Tatsuya on the ground. Taking his hand, they continued towards their barrack.

"'Cause they told me I had to be a cowgirl."

"They assigned you a costume?"

"Daddy!" Cho drew out the word in exasperation. "I wanted to be a cow_boy_. I wanted to wear jeans and Mama was going to make chaps, and Mr. Kuroki said I could wear his cowboy hat that he got when he was out with the beet crew, but the teacher said I had to be a cowgirl and wear a stupid skirt."

"I thought you liked skirts. You always used to wear dresses at home," Sasuke said, feeling a little out of depth. So much had changed in a year. She was, he noticed, wearing jeans now. A glance at Masumi made him realize that she was also wearing jeans and her expression said that he'd just hit a sore spot with Cho.

"That was San Francisco. Skirts are stupid in Utah. It's too cold and too dusty, and the wind blows all the time. The boys are always cheering and clapping every time some girl's skirt flies up. Mama lets me wear pants under mine, but I have to take them off when I get to school. It's dumb to have to dress twice."

"Okay, I see your point, but if the school dress code says that girls wear skirts, that's what you have to do," he said carefully.

"That's what I keep telling her," Masumi said, squeezing his arm and letting him know he'd navigated the treacherous waters safely. It had been much easier when they'd had time to confer on these things and come up with a united answer.

Cho just huffed with annoyance and gave him a fine view of her back and a toss of her ponytail. It was a display of attitude that he hadn't seen before, but before he could say anything, she was running ahead of them towards a building near the end of the street.

"This is new," he said, noting Masumi's expression of exasperation and worry.

"Sometimes I think I don't know her anymore. Her moods change so fast, and I can't decide if it's just growing up or if the move has something to do with it. Right now, Tom handles her best. She talks to him like she doesn't talk to me anymore, and she seems to listen to him better. Thank goodness he's such a level-headed, practical kind of man." She paused, and then added, "When he's not dumping small children into a horse trough to cool their temper."

Sasuke chuckled. "All the guys in the barrack laughed when I read that part of your letter out loud. I have to say that I didn't find it amusing at first, but the more I re-read the letter, the funnier it got, so I finally read it out loud. I was a little embarrassed to have a son who misbehaved that badly, but they reassured me that it was normal for his age. I suppose Tom's solution was quite practical."

"It worked. Tatsuya listens to Tom."

"This is our mess hall, see?" Cho called. They had almost caught up to her.

The door was closed and there was no one around, but he could hear the clatter of pots and pans from the back. Something that smelled like the beginnings of dinner was wafting through the roof vent. They showed him the bath and laundry building, busy as usual, and then went past to their barrack. Over the door, someone had tacked up a paper banner that said in Japanese and imperfectly spelled English "Welcome Home Sasuke". A row of bright paper flowers lined the bottom of the window.

"It must be Yuki," Masumi laughed. "She's been using paper flowers in the _ikebana_ class because they can't get real ones. This is home; come on in."

The room was bigger than he'd expected, and he was happy to learn it was just their family and Tom. He'd gotten used – or maybe that was resigned – to sharing space with strangers. It would be nice to have a space that was just for his family. The partitions were rough, and none went all the way to the peaked roof, but they were better than one big, open room with a couple dozen men stacked in it like cordwood. He recognized some of the material on the patchwork curtain over one of the interior doorways; Masumi had sent him shirts made of that material the previous Christmas. The other two curtains were a plain blue chambray cotton – Tom's, Masumi said – and a light green fabric with a pattern of darker green vines sprigged over it – hers, now theirs.

"We only heard at lunch that you were coming – a young man ran over to the mess hall with a telegraph to let me know, and I pulled Cho out of school – but we did get another cot and some more blankets. These things are awfully narrow." Masumi held the curtain aside so he could enter and set down his suitcase. "Tom, Kisho, and the boys were pretty good at scavenging lumber and nails when we got here, so we're probably set up better than many, and I ordered the material from the Montgomery Ward's catalog. I've been earning some money helping with the day care – Tatsu-chan has to be there anyway – and more by sewing on commission. Since we all order from the same catalogs, everyone starts to look alike after a while. Some of the women are happy to have me make something that lets them stand out a little. I substitute as a teacher, too, but that hasn't happened much."

Tatsuya had come into the room while she was talking and was patting Sasuke on the leg, holding something up and saying, "See? See?" Sasuke squatted down to take the object; a fat, carved wooden bear.

"That's very nice," he said sincerely, admiring the carving that clearly showed the details of the bear's fur and claws, and a rather intent expression on its ursine face.

"Tom makes those. Tatsu-chan has a forest-full of fat little animals and a couple fat little trees. Cho has a couple, too, but hers are more like _netsuke_, with the hole and string, and they hang off her school bag," Masumi said. "The MP's have searched us a couple times, here and in Tanforan, looking for contraband. Every time, they want to take his pocket knife and every time, he just stares them down and they go away without it. It's really quite amusing."

There was a knock on the door and they opened it to find friends and students from their old days in Japantown standing on the rough wooden steps and the walkway in front. Everyone was carrying a plate or bowl or pitcher of some sort, small offerings of whatever treats they might have that the mess halls didn't provide. Sasuke was welcomed home in two languages, with bows and handshakes and warm words. They were invited inside and a small party ensued as everyone traded stories of all that had happened since the last time they'd seen each other. But Sasuke noticed Tom was still absent.

***

"I will not be jealous. I will not be jealous. I will not be jealous," Kenshin muttered under his breath, leaning against the wall of one of the administrative buildings where he couldn't be seen by anyone at the main gates. "Where in the heck did that come from?" But he knew. When he'd seen Sasuke's arms go about his family and hold them close, it had been like a sword thrust through his soul, simple and devastating. He had wanted so much to return home after China and hold Kaoru and the kids. He had never gotten the chance. He'd been told the consequences, accepted them for their wisdom and truth, and he stayed away from Japan. Now he watched his grandson enjoy what he hadn't had himself - reunion. _Kami_, it hurt. More, perhaps, because this was his grandson…and how could he have a grandson when he'd never really had a chance to raise his own kids? Those other Immortals didn't know how lucky they were to not have had children.

He slid down the wall, unmindful of the rough boards snagging his jacket, the rasping sound of heavy cotton against wood. He folded his arms on his knees and buried his face in them. Possibly worst of all, it hurt more to know that he could be jealous of such happiness. He wasn't that petty a man, was he? Wasn't he supposed to want better for his kids than he'd had for himself? Wasn't that why he'd fought during the Bakumatsu? But he'd never seen himself having children then. Never thought he'd live long enough. Even after he'd married Tomoe, children hadn't seemed like a possibility, although there was no reason other than time that it hadn't been. After her death, he still hadn't thought he'd survive the war, and didn't care if he didn't. It was only with Kaoru that children had seemed possible, had become a reality, and their family had been his world for fifteen all-too-short years. He could still see their faces: Kaoru's luminous blue eyes brimming with laughter, flashing in anger, glowing with love only for him; Kenji, a small, hot-tempered version of himself and as single-minded as he had been at that age, but all the focus was inward on himself. Hikari's energy, like Cho's – bright and happy, with every emotion expressed on her face for all to see – and Yoshi's quiet, gentle sweetness that he suspected was much like his own before the cholera and the slavers and the sword. It didn't seem possible that any of his kids were old enough to have children, or even grandchildren, of their own. Not when he'd never seen them as adults…

"Gomen nasai, Niitsu-san." A voice intruded on his anguish, the English a little broken, the tone apologetic. "There is a fight – one of your students. You come, yes?"

Kenshin lifted his head, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Two elderly men were bowing politely in front of him. Both looked as if they'd been big strong men in their youth, but time had stripped much of that from them, and the hardship of camp had whittled away at it even more. Skin hung loose at their jaws and necks, and the big hands that were folded respectfully at their waists, which in another time would have been tucked into their sleeves, were knobby with arthritis. One man appeared to still be bowing, but Kenshin realized that he simply couldn't straighten any more than he was.

"Of course I'll come," he said, getting to his feet. The teacher was responsible for the behavior of his students after all and it would keep his mind away from more painful things.

***

"All right, Ishito, Fukuzaki, give us back the money." The speaker was one of the Santa Anita boys, a senior with wild hair, a previously broken nose, and a mean look to his eyes. Other than seeing him occasionally in the hallways, Hiroki didn't know him, but it didn't take much to figure out what his organizational affiliation was. He certainly wasn't hanging around after school to be part of the Glee Club. The four guys who backed him up didn't look particularly gleeful either, at least, not in the high school kind of sense. In the spoiling for a fight sense, they seemed pretty happy. There was a whole lot of knuckle-cracking and muscle flexing going on.

"Don't have any money," Hiroki said, patting his pockets with his free hand and keeping a firm grip on his kendo stick with the other. He'd taken to carrying it around and using it as a walking staff since he and Henry buried the cigar box, saying that the foot that had gotten the nail through it still bothered him from time to time. He didn't know how many of the adults believed that, but since he was always matter-of-fact about it, kept it neatly under his desk during class and never flashed it about, and did lean on it quite a bit, they left him alone. He also made a point of not being too good in kendo. Uncle Tom had the keenest eyes he'd ever seen, and although he didn't seem to completely buy Hiroki's need for the stick on a daily basis, he said nothing.

"You guys took all the money I had," Henry said, with an attempt at bravery, although his voice trembled.

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Haven't a clue," Hiroki shrugged.

"If you're missing money, you should go to the MP's about it," Henry said. "They've been looking into a whole bunch of thefts."

Hiroki blinked and thought, 'Good sincerity, Henry!'

"As if that's likely. We don't want the MP's in our business, and this is something we can handle on our own. What did you do with it?"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit. We saw Ishito, and there isn't anyone else of the right size he hangs out with but you, Fukuzaki." The leader motioned his friends into a containing circle. "Looks like they want to do this the hard way, boys."

"That wasn't me!" Henry said, but the time for talking was obviously over.

Hiroki snapped his stick up into a guard position and grabbed the end with his other hand. "Back to me, Henry. Try to stay close." He knew it wouldn't be easy. Henry had never struck him as being much of a fighter.

They managed to stick together for the opening moves of the fight. There were feints from the Santa Anita boys, but mostly toward Henry. They were rightfully wary of Hiroki and his stick, especially after he landed a couple hits. He figured he really could have made hash out of them if he didn't have Henry to defend. Having to stay close to the other boy kept him from going after his own attackers. Eventually, they did get separated, with one boy going after Henry and the other four, including the leader, concentrating on trying to disarm or distract Hiroki. It didn't work very well, although at one point, he felt a blow that bounced off a cheekbone and his nose. One of the exercises Tom had introduced that Hiroki had liked the best was the mock sparring against multiple opponents. In class, one person was in the middle with four others ringed around him, and each did specified moves in turn while the person in the middle blocked and counter-attacked. While the Santa Anita boys didn't have set moves or patterns of attack, Hiroki had developed a pretty good awareness for what was going on all around him and was able to keep each of them from getting too close. The longer it went on, the more effective his counter-attacks were becoming. It was even better when he went after one and broke out of the circle, striking and running past him. When he turned, the boy backed off cradling his arm. A couple more attempts and another, who took a glancing blow to the head, went down and didn't move. It seemed to make the remaining two angrier.

"All right, enough! All of you, _yame_!"

Hiroki recognized the voice and the command, and while his stance eased a little, he didn't lower his stick. The two boys facing him didn't appear to recognize either and he wasn't going to give them an opening even if he'd been told to stop.

"I told you two to stop. Do you have a problem with that?" Kenshin said reasonably, coming into Hiroki's field of vision.

"Yeah, I don't take orders from you!" The leader spun around and lunged at Kenshin, who stepped aside and slapped at the boy's hand. Something silvery and shiny flipped away and then the boy was face-down on the ground with Kenshin's foot on his neck, holding him there.

"Do you have a problem with it?" Kenshin asked the other boy, a dangerous glitter in his normally mild violet eyes.

"Uh, no," the other one said, raising his hands and backing away from Hiroki.

Hiroki immediately lowered the stick and bowed to the boy, then turned to face Kenshin and bowed formally to him, dropping to his knees and placing the stick crosswise in front of him, then bowing over it to press his forehead to the ground before sitting back up in _seiza_.

"Good," Kenshin said. He released the one under his foot and picked up the switchblade that the leader had dropped. "I don't think this is regulation so I'll be turning it in to the MP's. If you want to claim it later, feel free." The boy sat up, rubbing his wrist and glaring, but the fight appeared to have left him. Kenshin leaned over the other boy on the ground, the one Hiroki had hit with the stick. "This one probably has a concussion; you'll want to take him up to the hospital. Henry, you want to stop trying to dislocate that kid's shoulder and let him help his friends?"

Hiroki finally looked around; he'd forgotten about Henry. The older boy had taken his opponent down and had him in a wrestling hold that he was just now releasing. That boy sullenly slumped over to his friends while Henry moved up closer to Hiroki.

"I want you boys to know we're not going to tolerate fighting in our community. That's information for all seven of you. Don't make me come out and break up another one. I might not be so gentle next time. Now you three get those two to the hospital and then get home." He turned to Henry and Hiroki as the Santa Anitans left the schoolyard.

"Henry, you get home, too. And I'll thank you not to be spreading any more vicious rumors about Cho's family. She's very sensitive and she doesn't need to be hearing talk like that."

"Uh, yes, sir," Henry said, glancing at Hiroki and then shuffling off towards home.

"And you."

Hiroki scrambled to his feet, holding the stick down at his side.

"Tell me what this was all about."

"They accused Henry and me of stealing their money and when we said we didn't know anything about it, they didn't believe us and started the fight anyway."

Kenshin's narrowed gaze remained on him and the silence grew between them, but Hiroki knew better than to try any more explanations. What he'd said was the truth, as far as it went, and he was sticking with it. Experience had taught him long ago that he had a better chance of getting off if he didn't fumble around with explanations.

"How much money?"

"They didn't say."

"Must be a lot."

"Sir?"

"Rumors, Hiroki. And you don't grab four of your friends and pick a fight for a dollar or two."

"Yes, sir."

Kenshin sighed. "Let's go home. Your _sensei_ has come in from Montana at last and you need to put in an appearance and greet him. So do I, but I was breaking up a fight."

"Sorry, sir."

They were walking past the elementary school in the gathering dusk when Hiroki finally spoke again.

"Mr. Niitsu? If it was a lot of money they lost, where do you think it came from?"

"Gambling, the rumors say."

"That's bad, isn't it?"

"Depends on if it's an honest game and if the gamblers are staying within their means."

"But if it's a lot of money, then they wouldn't be. I mean, honest or within their means."

"Maybe, maybe not. It takes a lot of money to run even honest games."

Hiroki was silent, thinking it through. "What would you do if you had a lot of money like that?"

Kenshin slanted him a look. "I'd try to do something good with it – help people out. There are a lot of folks who haven't recovered from the Depression yet and don't have much to make do with. But I don't expect I'll have the kind of free cash that the rumors say went missing. Most of my money goes back into my business, with a much smaller amount left for charity. What I make now, plus savings, pays taxes and insurance since the government is so kindly taking care of everything else, but there's still a need for charity."

Hiroki nodded. "That's what Mom and Dad do, or did, when they ran the flower shop. And they still give some of what they're earning here to the Shinto priest to help the needy, even though it's not much. Doesn't it seem kinda useless that the government moved us all away from home and put us here where they have to take care of us when we were doing okay, but there were other people that could have been helped with the money they're spending on us now?"

"Yep. I don't even try to figure out governments anymore." 'Goodness knows the Meiji government didn't turn out like I expected,' Kenshin thought. "I thought Roosevelt putting everyone to work in the '30's was a good idea. I'm not thinking so much of his endorsement of this plan. But that's the way governments are. They're often run by average people with big ideas, Hiroki, and sometimes the big ideas catch them up and send them off in a direction they never thought they'd go. And they never realize it until they're so far beyond the point that they can't get back to it."

By this time, they were approaching 7-12D, where the lights were on and people spilled out the doorway.

"Speaking of going beyond the point, we will be if we keep walking. Go put your stick away and clean up a bit, and then come over and make your welcome." Kenshin sent Hiroki off with a gentle shove on the shoulder and steeled himself to walk into the crowd. He started to take off his coat as he wove his way between people and managed to artfully stumble at the perfect spot to slide the _nihonto_ off his back and under the front steps with no one noticing. His _ki_ could keep it from being seen, but there was no way to ensure that it wouldn't be felt in close quarters. Several pairs of hands helped steady him as he regained his feet. He thanked the people with a smile and a joke about his clumsiness, and then mounted the steps.

***

"Hey, there he is," Kisho said, nudging Sasuke in the arm and nodding towards the door. Tom had his back to them as he hung his coat on a peg near the door, but then he turned and stepped around a few people to get to Sasuke.

'Welcome home," he said and stuck out a hand. Sasuke took it and shook, then pulled him into the same kind of rough bear hug he'd give to one of his brothers.

"Thank you so much for taking care of them for me," he said huskily, and then pushed back to look Tom in the eye. "I really mean it. I don't know what we would have done without you."

"My pleasure. It was no problem at all."

Tom didn't look any thinner, unlike the rest of the family, but his hair was lighter and redder and he was every bit as brown from the sun. At arm's length, Sasuke could see two thin white lines bisecting Tom's left cheek at right angles.

'An odd kind of scar,' he thought. 'Where did I hear of…?' But then Tom was talking and the thought fled.

"Sorry I had to leave. It was too early for the Peace Patrol to be working and I was called upon to break up a fight."

"Please don't tell me that has something to do with the fact that my younger son isn't here yet," Kisho said, half joking.

"What do you think?" Tom grinned.

"Argh! How badly is he beaten up?"

"A bit of a bloody nose, but nothing serious. He was actually acquitting himself quite well with that stick of his and almost seemed to be enjoying it," Tom laughed. "It was kind of a shame to break it up. You should have seen it," he said to Sasuke. "You'd be proud."

"As long as Yuki doesn't break out the gauze and the red stuff again," Kisho said.

"She'd probably bandage up his entire head. I'll make sure I don't tell her." Tom laughed even harder.

"All right, you're going to have to fill me in," Sasuke said, and Kisho obliged. Sasuke laughed when he was done. "Yuki always did go a bit too far. Remember when the boys were little? A skinned knee was like a broken leg.

"Tom, I really want to see these new things you've introduced. Yamaguchi-san and Sato-san have told me some of it in letters, but it's hard for me to see it in my mind based on what they wrote."

"You're in luck; practice is tomorrow. It's really not new, except for the unarmed stuff which I've picked up here or there in my misspent younger years, but the sword work is all the stuff you taught them put together a little bit differently. I had to do something to keep them interested – you can only do the basics so many times before their attention begins to wander."

"That never happens, Coach." Hiroki had come up unnoticed. His hair was damp and spiky and a smudge of dirt still showed on the side of his neck. One cheekbone and the side of his nose looked a little red and puffy, but it didn't appear too obvious. He and Sasuke exchanged the combination hand shake and bow that Sasuke had developed shortly after beginning his teaching career in America. Americans just didn't seem capable of greeting each other without shaking hands and they never did seem to get the bow quite right.

"What are you feeding this kid?" Sasuke asked Kisho, with a smile. Hiroki had grown almost a foot since Sasuke had last seen him.

"Whatever Uncle Sam's cooks slap on a plate…several times over," Kisho snorted.

"I thought the ID card only worked once per meal, and no second helpings."

"Once per meal at your mess hall. No one said that you couldn't go to the ones on the other blocks. If you time it right, you can hit three or four before they shut down," Hiroki said unrepentantly.

"Hiroki, that's not honest," Sasuke reproved. "You know, kendo isn't just about hitting people. I'm trying to teach you some proper conduct, too. The samurai are gone but some of those codes of conduct are still very important. Honesty is probably more important than any."

"I can honestly say I'd be more honest about the food if they gave us more in the first place," Hiroki said. "Then I wouldn't need to go to the other mess halls. It's hard being honest about it when your stomach is growling at you."

"He's not wrong," Kenshin said. "At least, not about the portions. It's enough if you're average sized and moderately active, but it's not enough for the junior high and high school boys. You'll see when we get there, and we really should get moving. Everyone's treats are nice but it doesn't make for a real dinner, and Hiroki's getting that hungry look around the eyes again. If we go too late, he'll only get two dinners."

"I keep hoping they'll have soup in those red kettles at the door, to kinda hold you until you get to the front of the line, but they never do," Hiroki said. "There's not even a fire under them."

"That's because they're Salvation Army kettles, you dork," Daisuke said, coming up behind him and cuffing his brother. "The Christian churches are collecting money for the poor, like they do every year between Thanksgiving and Christmas. They've got 'em in front of all the mess halls now.

"Mom wants to know when you want to go for dinner, Dad."

"We were just discussing that, and I think now is the time. Come on, Sasuke, let's round up your family and continue the party in the mess hall."

They managed to get a table together by virtue of being later than usual, which also meant that it was slim pickings through the food line, but no one really cared except, perhaps, the teenagers. Sasuke didn't really expect the usual ritual of thanking someone for the food – they hadn't continued it at Fort Missoula except as individuals sometimes thanking the cooking crew, so it didn't surprise him that it had been dropped here as well. What did surprise him was that Tom had persisted in asking each member of the group what they were grateful for – with his return being the unanimous answer today – and what they'd seen that was beautiful. When the question came around to Cho, she ducked her head a little in embarrassment and said;

"I saw Mama smile."

***

It was a small noise that woke Sasuke, but it snapped him wide awake and he lay curled around Masumi on her cot and tried to figure out what it was. He knew all the noises in the dark in Fort Missoula, but Topaz Camp had its own set of noises and he wasn't used to them yet.

"What's the matter?" Masumi whispered sleepily. He was pressed so tightly to her that she couldn't have failed to notice him jerk awake. They'd shoved the two cots as close together as they could go and spread the sheets and blankets over both, but there was no getting around the fact that the sides were harder than the middles and the only comfortable place to be was either on one or the other. Fortunately, they'd always preferred to sleep close to each other.

"What was that thump?" he whispered back, mindful that there were people on the other side of the thin wall and not wanting to wake anyone else up at an hour when there was just barely enough light to make out vague shapes in the room. It was rather like being back in Japan again.

"Probably Tom going out for his morning run."

"He runs in the morning? Without anyone chasing him?"

Masumi chuckled softly and wriggled around on the cot so she could face him and tuck her head under his chin. "Every morning, rain, shine, or snow. Says it helps with the frustration of being stuck here. He ran the track at Tanforan. Kisho used to kid him about being a reincarnated racehorse."

Sasuke huffed a soft laugh and raised a hand to trail his fingers lightly down the side of her face, tipping her chin up. He raised himself onto one elbow and leaned over her, lips hovering just above hers. "I can think of better things to do this early in the morning."

Masumi twined her arms about his neck. "So can I," she said, and smiled.

Together, they indulged in their own kind of morning exercise.

***

Sasuke and Kisho were still lingering at the breakfast table when Kenshin came in, looking as if he'd finally made it through the shower line only to be dusted white. He stopped just inside the door to whip off the worst of it with his battered baseball cap before moving through the line and bringing his tray to their table.

"You look like you shouldn't have bothered with the shower," Kisho said.

"It is better than the alternative, but there's no doubt about it: the wind is blowing today. Good thing I carry all the dishes and such in a bag or I'd be eating as much dust as I was wearing," Kenshin said, setting down his tray and sitting next to Sasuke. Across from them, an elderly couple nodded a greeting and murmured "Ohayo gozaimasu", which Kenshin returned with careful enunciation and a smile.

"I'm guessing Masumi has already left with the kids?"

"Yeah, they were in a bit of a hurry. We…uh…were a little delayed in getting up this morning, so they didn't waste time over breakfast."

Kisho snickered and Kenshin focused completely on his runny eggs and limp bacon for several mouthfuls, but his eyes twinkled as he chewed. Then he got that prickle on the back of his neck that signaled another Immortal right when Kisho said:

"Here comes trouble."

"What do you mean?" Sasuke asked, but didn't get a response. A man had just come in the door and stopped to Kenshin's right.

"So, the husband finally comes home. Convenient that's it's been your brother with the wife. Keeps it in the family. I've heard of some who enjoy threesomes; are you that kind? Because they might not want to share now."

Sasuke was coming off the bench before the man had finished speaking. Kisho and Kenshin both clamped a hand on the shoulder nearest to them and held him down. The elderly couple gave them a look of confused fright, and then picked up their trays and scuttled to a different table.

"Go take your filth elsewhere. Haven't you learned yet?" Kenshin said, eyes narrowed.

"Why, no. Are you going to teach me a lesson?"

"Don't tempt me."

"But I am. I've heard you're a very good teacher and I want to learn everything you know." There was a meaningful note in Hosokawa's voice that Kenshin wasn't sure if the others caught.

"You haven't learned anything yet. I think my school is beyond your ability."

"Don't you mean his?" Hosokawa asked, a movement of his head indicating Sasuke with his chin.

"Oh, no. When I teach you a lesson, it'll be my school. That's not as polite as what his students are learning."

"Then I'll look forward to it. Just don't take too long. I'll get impatient." Hosokawa went past them, towards the counter.

"What was that all about?" Sasuke asked. He hadn't picked up the habit of swearing in English, but his tone said he would have liked to if he could have thought of the words.

"Just ignore him. He says stuff like that all the time."

"Yeah, he's been trying to get Tom into a fight since we ran into him at Tanforan."

"You guys have an old unresolved fight?" Sasuke asked.

"Never met him before then. Wish I hadn't since. A fight is all wishful thinking on his part, but only the gods know why. I learned to stay out of trouble a long time ago." Kenshin eyed the forkful of eggs he'd started to lift before Hosokawa had shown up. His appetite was gone, and he pushed the plate away.

"But what he said first… That kind of stuff gets around and I won't have anyone saying that about my wife. That's how rumors get started."

"Sasuke, you don't need to get into a fight with him, either. That just gives the rumors credence."

"Don't worry, we have counter-intelligence," Kisho said. "Code name: Yuki."

Kenshin felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. "Yeah, no kidding. I have come to believe that gossip is an art and Yuki is the master. She knows just what to say and how to say it for maximum effect."

"And she's done a fine job so far, don't worry." Kisho squeezed Sasuke's shoulder. "I'm entirely certain that it's due to her efforts that he lost the election for Block Six. No one who counts believes anything he's said about Tom and Masumi. Your students have been very good about defending the Himura family honor as well."

"Look, we've got to go or we'll be late to work," Kenshin said. "Like Kish said, don't worry about it, and stay away from Hosokawa. He's not worth your time. Hopefully, I'll see you at dinner. If not, class is at seven in the high school gym. Cho and the boys will get you there."

"Okay, but Tom… What is your school?"

Kenshin smiled sunnily, but with an edge. "The School of Hard Knocks, of course. There are times I don't mind handing them out."

***

Sasuke simply sat back that evening as Kenshin, with help from Sato and Yamaguchi, ran the class through their paces. There was nothing to criticize except that no one was wearing a uniform and that couldn't be helped. Each had come dressed in something comfortable they could move in, with the boys in their school athletic wear, the girls in what appeared to be pajama pants, and the men in loose trousers and t-shirts. Everyone looked sharp, although there were a few fumbles from nervous tension. They were easy to overlook. The energy level was high, the students were obviously enjoying themselves, and there was even a certain level of showing off. Sasuke was impressed by the attack-counter attack combinations and how close everyone came to striking each other without actually hitting, which they couldn't do without armor. Kenshin stumbled over the terminology in Japanese and finally gave up on it altogether and simply used English. At the end of two hours, all the students were dripping with sweat.

Sasuke stood at the front of the class to address the students.

"I would like to commend all of you on your dedication in the adverse conditions we have experienced in this last year. I can see that all of you are ready to continue with your studies and learn some new techniques and kata. I'd like to take a moment to thank Mr. Niitsu for his leadership in pulling you all together, and Mr. Yamaguchi and Mr. Sato for their support in working with him. I will see you all on Friday, when we will start learning something new, so please make sure you are here."

After the class, he met with Kenshin, Sato, and Yamaguchi while the students cleaned the floor.

"We've been getting inquiries, Sir, from people wanting to start with us. We've had to turn them away," Yamaguchi said.

"I'll check with the administration and see if they have a problem with the class getting bigger. We have the space for it here in the gym, so we can expand a bit. Tom, I'd like to actually see you in the class."

"Yeah, I'm not so sure about that," Kenshin said, then diverted the topic onto a logistical problem. "Where are we going to get more sticks if we expand?"

"It's been bring your own stick so far," Sato said, "but that's not going to work very well if we're going to start sparring again. We don't know the quality of the wood, and we could be risking injuries if they break. Also, we don't want to encourage people to break broom and tool handles just to join up with us."

"When I check with the administration tomorrow, I'll see what kind of options we have," Sasuke said. "It would help if we could get some pine from the building supplies to shape into _bokken_. What we really need is something lightweight that we can make into _shinai_, but I don't know what that would be in America. The rest of you keep your eyes and ears open, too."

On the way back to the barracks, with Cho and the Fukuzaki boys still energetically jumping and dodging around them, Sasuke said, "I really think you should join the class, Tom. Those combinations are great, and I think you'd do very well at this."

"Thanks, but I think my functions are counting and bad Japanese. Sometimes I combine them and count in bad Japanese."

"Or count badly in Japanese," Hiroki said. "If it's not the pronunciation, it's the order: 'One! Two! Four!'"

"I don't miss 'three'," Kenshin protested. "It's seven I can't remember. That's why a lot of times I only count to five."

"You did mangle some of those terms," Sasuke agreed. "Didn't Masumi say you and Cho were taking language class together?"

"It got cancelled. I don't think language class would help with technical terms anyway. It's not like kendo terms are something most people use in everyday conversation. The worst thing is, when I mess up, these guys turn themselves into pretzels trying to do whatever it was I told them to do."

"Or stand there and stare at you stupidly," Daisuke said. "Hiroki's really good at that."

"I don't! I just do whatever worked the last time." Hiroki looked smug.

"That means you're not really paying attention," Sasuke said, and Kenshin laughed at Hiroki as teenaged smug turned to surprise and outrage.

"You see, they humor me. That's okay; I've gotten plenty of laughs watching you." Kenshin aimed a playful swat at Hiroki, who was closest, but the youngster dodged away, laughing.

Sasuke smiled. It was nice that his old friends and his new had meshed so well together, but it sometimes left him feeling like he'd missed something. On the other hand, Tom's dynamic with the Fukuzaki boys was interesting: one part authority figure, one part big brother. He knew he'd never have that kind of relationship with them or any of his students. Maybe that kind of casual attitude was just part of growing up American.

***

Hiroki watched the basketball bounce off the rim, before another boy jumped forward to claim it. There were a lot of boys who liked to shoot hoops – Hiroki was one of them – but there weren't enough balls to go around. Once you shot, you had to wait until one came your way, unless you wanted to skirmish over a rebound. Hiroki's mind wasn't really on making baskets this afternoon. He was actually waiting for Henry, who was one of the ones leaping and shoving under the basket, and wondering when the older boy would get tired of the bruises. He was hoping it was soon. He was hungry and there was a chance of several meals tonight if Henry hurried. There was also a plan to put into action.

Finally, the older boy broke away from the pack and headed towards the door. Hiroki took a path to intercept him.

"Not working too hard this afternoon, Fukuzaki," Henry said, blotting the back of his neck with a towel. "You'll never get on J.V. with that kind of habit."

"Other things on my mind, Henry. I have reservations about junior varsity basketball anyway. Daisuke's already aiming for a spot on varsity and I'd hate to look like I was following in his footsteps, or worse, trying to rival him."

"Not a chance. He's got a cooler head than you."

The two boys had left the relative warmth of the high school after pulling on their coats, and were crunching across the frozen ground towards the street.

"Maybe," Hiroki said, "But I can think too." For some reason, most people thought that he simply reacted to what came at him instead of first thinking it through. Most of the time, he was thinking fast, but sometimes he just knew that something was going to work and he did it without appearing to think ahead. Like this. He knew it was going to work.

"I've got a plan, Henry," he said quietly, knowing how voices carried in the open and the cold. "I know what we can do with the money."

"We can't take it back. They're still watching the place." Henry answered in kind, with a quick glance around.

"I know. But we can still get rid of it." Hiroki told him the details in a low voice that carried no further than the space around them despite the cold, clear air.

Henry was silent for a few moments, thinking it over. "It might work."

"Of course it'll work, especially if I give up basketball so we don't leave the school together. We meet over at admin, get the money…"

"Okay, when do we start?"

Hiroki grinned. "No time like the present…"

--------

_A/N: Well, time for my annual chapter! Actually, I'm hoping it won't be that long before I post again. Many, many thanks to Skepsis66 for trading beta work with me and getting my lazy butt moving forward. There is so much going on that instead of making decisions, I seem to just be running in circles. Usually screaming "Auuuggghhh!" while I'm doing it. Thank goodness there are a couple people out there who can shake some coherence out of me. Skepsis66 is one, and the comments provided really helped me focus. _

_I'd like to finish this story this year, so all of you - read, review, and poke at me to get 'er done._

_Thanks for your patience and continued attention._

_~Pen_

_Vocabulary stuff:_

_Some of this is pretty basic, but I'll throw it in anyway._

_Bokken - wooden practice sword_

_Gomen nasai - Pardon me, excuse me_

_Ki - energy, life force_

_Netsuke - a carved figure like a bead that would slide down purse strings and close the bag_

_Nihonto - Japanese sword_

_Ohayo gozaimasu - Good morning_

_Sensei - learned one, teacher_

_Shinai - paractice sword made of bamboo slats_

_Yame - stop_


	20. Chapter 20

Questions of Loyalty

The holidays went by in something of a blur, happier than the year before since they were all together but not as pleasant as the ones spent in their own home. Sasuke joined the Peace Patrol and was rapidly elevated to the position of captain. For Kenshin, it seemed too much like the Shinsengumi without the strutting and casual brutality. He refused to join despite encouragement from the adults in the kendo class, most of whom were members. With the turn into the new year, Masumi and several of the older women at the day care took on the preparations for the spring wedding of a younger colleague who had lost her mother years before. Every evening found her doing delicate embroidery on pieces of the dress under the single bulb in the apartment's main room.

Also with the new year came a new distress for the citizens of Topaz and all the other camps: a questionnaire of four pages and twenty-eight questions meant to gauge the loyalty of the citizenry for the United States of America, and in its ineptitude, actually causing more harm than good. Most of the questionnaire was routine – information about relatives in the country and any interests in foreign banks or businesses. Only the last two questions caused controversy, and controversy it was.

_Number 27 – Are you willing to serve in the armed forces of the United States on combat duty, wherever ordered?_

_Number 28 – Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of America and faithfully defend the United States from any or all attack by foreign or domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance or obedience to the Japanese emperor, or any other foreign government, power, or organization?_

March 1943

Sasuke quickened his pace when he saw the confrontation ahead of him, dimly lit by one of the street lights. There had to be half a dozen of them, angry young men with no way to express themselves and no one who would listen. Several were wielding baseball bats from one of the recreation halls, others had spare pieces of two-by-fours, and one just clenched his fists. Facing them was the man he knew as Tom, looking wary but not particularly intimidated, and at his feet was a huddled bundle. Sauske could hear their raised voices in the cold, clear desert night. Behind him, other members of his troop quickened their steps to keep up with him.

"He's been playing up to the administration, Niitsu. They're the ones keeping us imprisoned here. We should be fighting them, not playing nice while they take away our rights, like this _inu_."

"Go home, boys," Kenshin said evenly. "No one wants a fight here. You've done enough damage already."

"Wrong! We do want a fight," one of the others said. "And if we can't fight them, we can fight you. Maybe if we beat up a couple of their _inu_ they'll start to listen to us."

"You don't get people to listen with violence. You make reasonable, intelligent arguments like you're thinking human beings. That's what gets people to listen to you." Kenshin's voice was still even, almost calming.

"They don't listen! We argue about Constitutional rights until we're blue and they turn away from us. They ask us all if we'll serve in a combat zone – even our mothers! And they ask our parents to become people without a country."

"Yeah," another chimed in. "They ask us to foreswear the Japanese Emperor like we ever swore loyalty to him in the first place. We're Americans! What do we care about some near-sighted royal bastard in Japan?"

"On the one hand they say it's military necessity to keep us here and on the other it's to keep us safe, but the reality is, it's all bullshit. We're here because they don't want us in America and if they can keep an eye on us in the camps then they can ship us off easily once the war is over."

"And you're their little puppets, art classes and shows to keep us busy, filling out the forms, and 'helping' people. Helping us stay caged and helpless while they strip everything away until we don't even have pride left. This is no way to live!"

They were talking over each other, each striving to be heard.

"Look, I get all that, and I can't argue with you there; it isn't any way to live. I'm as stuck in the middle of it as any of you. But it's the way we have to for now. Not everyone sees this the same way you do, and not everyone has the freedom you have to speak your mind and damn the consequences. There are people with families here that need protection, whether they're children or elderly. Don't bring the same kind of racist hysteria here that was going on toward us before we came. Beating up people who don't agree with you is not what America is about. That's not what any civilized country is about."

"America doesn't care about us; that's why we're stuck here. No one else in this country has to prove their loyalty. That's why we've got to fight for ourselves. And you're in the way. So we're going to take you out of it."

Sasuke started to run as the first of the young men closed in on Kenshin, and then he stopped, unsure of what he'd seen. Kenshin had done…something…some quick series of moves that left the man on the ground curled up in a ball, moaning, and his bat in Kenshin's hands. Kenshin turned back to the others, resting the bat lightly across his shoulders and giving them a narrow-eyed glare. None of the others seemed to want to get close to him anymore. If they'd come at him in a pack, he might not have had a chance, but not one of them wanted to take the chance that he'd be the next one the short, slender man got his hands on.

"Baseball bats are for the ball field, gentlemen" Kenshin said. "You want to hit something with them, hit baseballs. But if you go after anyone in my sight with anything that could be a weapon at any time in this camp, I'm not averse to putting a few heads over the fences. No one likes being here, but your actions make it worse for everyone. Now go home."

Sasuke was close enough now to see the fierce light in Kenshin's lavender eyes, and he didn't doubt for a second that his friend would do as promised. It was surprising, to realize that his mild-mannered friend would have such a fierceness about him. Not to know he would do as he said – Sasuke had early-on judged Kenshin to be a man of his word – but to realize that his friend could be violent if need be. That was the surprise. Sasuke stepped into the ring of light just behind the group, Sato, Yamaguchi, and the others fanning out behind him.

"That goes for us, as well," he said. "We're pretty good at swinging sticks, too, and we will also protect anyone in this camp who needs help."

Several of the men at the back of the group jumped at his voice. They had been unaware of the other group's approach, and he could tell that the knowledge that Tom was no longer alone against them – not to mention everyone in the camp knew Sasuke was a kendo instructor and his unit of the Peace Patrol was made up of his adult students.

"What's going on here?"

"These boys are a little upset with their lot, so they decided to take it out on someone. From what they said, I think it's Obata-sensei, but I haven't had time to look."

"Alright. That earns you all a walk to the MP station. Drop the weapons here and come along quietly."

Sullenly, the men complied, and were soon being herded away by Sato and half the patrol. Kenshin was kneeling by the bundle at his feet – their victim – when Sasuke turned away from giving his orders.

"We need to get him to the hospital," Kenshin said. "They beat him up bad."

With jackets, ball bats, and bokken, they rigged a stretcher and carried the unconscious art teacher to the hospital. Once there, Sasuke sent one of his men to get Obata's wife. Then they waited while the doctor and nurses working that night took over.

"Thanks," Kenshin said. "You shouldn't have gotten involved, though. They might decide to go after Masumi or the kids."

"I don't think so. They're decent enough guys underneath, just stressed. As are we all."

"I guess I don't have as much faith in human nature as you do. We're going to have to keep an eye on those guys. I don't like the ugly turn things have taken here."

They stayed until Obata's wife arrived and did their best to comfort her until the doctor came out to talk with her. The injuries were bad enough that he would remain in the hospital for a few days, perhaps longer, depending on how he responded to treatment. They murmured condolences to her before taking their leave.

Kenshin gestured as they walked towards their barrack. "As long as things were half-finished here and there was something to keep them busy, everything was – mostly – okay. We all had the same adversity to fight against. But now that things are bearable – if not exactly comfortable – we're going to start tearing ourselves apart. This is just the first sign of it."

"That loyalty questionnaire didn't help," Sasuke

"It certainly doesn't," Kenshin agreed. "There's too much ambiguity in the questions and not enough answers about what will happen after they're all turned in."

"They don't always make sense. Masumi wondered why they asked her marital status and then asked the citizenship and race of her wife. She said she was sure she'd been taught the word for me was 'husband'."

"On the one that asked about foreign travel, did you say you came to America?" Kenshin asked wryly.

"Heh, no, but I'm thinking of listing Tatsuya's occupation as 'Unholy Terror'. Think that will get their attention?"

"You could call him a 'Tantrum Specialist'."

"I think you cured him of that. Well, when you're around him, anyway."

Kenshin shook his head. "Neither of us is going to live that one down. All seriousness aside, though, I'm all for doing what it takes to get out of here, but I'm not sure this is the way. I think tonight's incident is just the beginning."

"Well, you seem to be pretty good at predicting what's going to happen next, so I won't scoff at you. I just hope you're wrong. Maybe since we're anticipating it, we can head it off. Then we'll both be right." Sasuke paused, then continued. "You're pretty good when things get ugly. You should join us in the peace patrol."

Kenshin slanted a sideways look at him. "I keep telling you 'no'. I prefer to be a free-wheeling baseball bat."

Sasuke sighed. "You always try to be on the outside looking in. Sometimes it's easier if you just jump into it, Tom."

"That's why I'm here."

"Here as in the middle of the street at night or here as in Topaz?"

"Whatever you want."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm trying for enigmatic."

"Like I said – outside looking in, but why? You're one of our family but not one of our family; part of the community but not part of it. Why do you keep people at a distance?"

"Because it's better that way," Kenshin said. "For me and everyone else. Let it go, Sasuke."

"Is it that Hosokawa guy?"

"He's part of it. Let it go."

"Tom, I've seen your scars. And I've seen how you handle a confrontation. We really can use someone with your experience. I don't see why you won't help us keep the peace here in camp."

"If you've seen the scars, then that should be explanation enough. I'm not to be trusted with weapons and authority. Now let it go."

They had reached their barrack but when Sasuke turned up the path to the door, Kenshin didn't follow.

"Coming?" Sasuke asked, stopping after a couple of steps.

"I've got time before lights-out. I think I'm going to work on that drawing for the art show. Obata-san may be injured, but we should all go forward as if he'll be well by the time the show is."

"Okay. See you later, then, or in the morning."

Kenshin dawdled his way up the path to Rec 7 until he heard the door close on their apartment, the sound crisp and snappy in the still night air. Then he cut between the buildings and waited for the dark between the searchlights to cross the road and slip through the fence into the desert beyond. By the time the light swept past again, only the empty desert night was illuminated.

Officially, folks could go out into the farming parts of the camp, outside the fence, during the daytime, but had to be back before dark. Even during daylight, the inmates were supposed to stay ten feet from the four foot high barbed wire fence. Passing through the gates ensured monitoring. There wasn't really anywhere to go, anyway, although it was possible to hike the sixteen miles into Delta if one didn't mind chancing the rattlesnakes. Or scorpions. Desert heat or cold. Blizzards. Dust storms. Slipping through the fence at night was the height of folly for most, but Kenshin had honed his ki skills and was nearly invisible to the guards as long as he didn't move when the spotlights swept by. He wasn't worried about snakes and scorpions; the intensity of his ki during practice drove them away. And if he hadn't wanted to be there for his family, none of the above would have kept him there.

An hour later, Kenshin spun in the darkness, executing the sword strike, and then shifting into the block that followed. Practicing kata in the darkness surrounding the camp was his only way of accomplishing it. He turned and struck, then leaped into the air for the ryu tsuisen, landed, blocked with his free hand on the back of the blade…and froze, senses reaching outward. When he moved again, it wasn't part of the kata and it was barely visible. He stopped with the tip of his blade inches from another man's throat.

"Who are you and what do you want?" he snarled. It was the mousey little man he'd first seen at Tanforan. Of course, it was impossible to get away from anyone he knew from there, but this man didn't get involved in the same things Kenshin did. Usually when Kenshin saw him, he was on the periphery of Hosokawa's circle. There was no reason for him to be anywhere nearby, unless he was spying.

"Ahhh, I was just out taking a walk. Enjoying the night air, you know…" the man sputtered.

"Try again. You're outside the fence and you weren't walking anywhere. You were watching."

"Well, ah, sure. I was walking and I saw you and I stopped to watch. I thought Himura-sensei was good, but you're…ah…really good. I mean, you're better than anyone I've even seen. That is…"

"You make it a habit to watch swordsmen practice?" Kenshin stepped forward, eyes flashing amber menace. The man back-pedaled, tripping over a sage bush and falling heavily. He flung up his arm, first for balance, and then to shield himself in case of a blow. Kenshin simply stood over him, the katana pointed negligently at the other man's throat. "Could be a really bad habit," he said.

"No, not a habit. Just…sometimes when I see guys practicing, it's fascinating, you know? I couldn't ever do it but I like to watch." He waved the shielding hand and his sleeve pulled up even more, exposing a tattoo on his wrist. It looked something like a stylized letter Y, with the uprights bent downward. It was enclosed by two concentric circles with dots between them. Kenshin had never seen anything like it.

"What's this?" he asked, tapping the wrist with the flat of his blade. The other man flinched and pulled his arm in, tugging his sleeve back over the mark.

"Nothing. Just a tattoo I got."

"What's it mean?" Kenshin caught a jump in the man's ki, an increase in nervousness and fear. It was obviously something he didn't want to explain, which meant it could be important.

"Uhh, well, nothing, really. Just, uhh, a kind of affiliation, with a union, like with Teamsters."

"Teamsters uses two horses."

"I said, 'like with Teamsters', not that I was one of them. Mine's, umm, a kind of newspaperman's group. Yeah. We just watch people and try to find interesting stories, for news and, um, entertainment. But not like, you know, dances and ball games and political rallies. This is more, uh, I guess you'd call it human interest stories. So, you know I work for the paper and I'm a reporter. So, yeah. I watch everybody and I'm always taking notes."

The man's ki was throwing out mixed signals now, as if he was comfortable with some of what he said but not all of it. Kenshin couldn't tell what was truth and what was lies, but he had seen the man with a notebook or journal in hand.

"Really?" he drawled the word out, letting his disbelief show.

"Uh, yeah. You know, can't stop the habits of a lifetime just because I'm penned up here." Mousey man made a try at jovial camaraderie. Kenshin wasn't buying it, but he really didn't have anything definite to object to.

"Get back to camp. And…don't…tell…anybody…what you saw here. Not your friends, not your business partners, and not Himura-sensei. Not even because of oh wow you've never seen anyone so good and what a great story this is. Camp's not that big; I can find you if I want you, and if this gets out, I'll want you." With the narrowed amber eyes, Kenshin's smile was anything but pleasant.

The other man swallowed audibly and scrambled backward to a safer distance before he stood and ran for the fence. Kenshin sat down in seiza position where he was, sheathing the katana and resting it across his thighs. The zen of his practice was entirely broken. After a few moments, he sighed deeply and sank into a cross-legged sitting position, setting the sword to his left with the hilt forward: easy to draw in case of emergency. He knew he could do intimidation well – he'd honed it to an art-form before he was sixteen – but it wasn't something he liked to do. It was too much of a reminder of the bad old days. He'd tried so hard to put that past behind him, and thought he had, but being Immortal brought so much of it back. The need for secrecy was almost overwhelming sometimes, but it was still there. The town had people who were old enough to recall stories of Battousai the Manslayer. Ten feet tall with hair of flame, the stories went. Kenshin smiled grimly at the darkness. He was just over half that tall, but if he let the true color of his hair show, would the stories come back? Did anyone remember the cross-shaped scar? There was no way to hide it. Sasuke had heard of it, he knew. He'd caught the younger man staring at it a couple times, and with no partitions in the showers, he couldn't hide the other scars from anyone, either. The more distance he could put between them, the better, but Sasuke wasn't letting go. Like Sano, once he decided he liked and respected someone, that person was a friend for life - even when that person didn't want friends. And he was pig-headed stubborn, like Sano. Ever since he'd come to the camp and gotten involved with the Peace Patrol, he'd been after Kenshin to join the group, join the kendo class, join whatever he was involved in that he thought Kenshin would be good at or benefit from. At least he hadn't tried to take Kenshin gambling. But Sasuke wasn't stupid and sooner or later he was going to start demanding answers.

Kenshin headed back for the camp, shaking off the stiffness that came with cooling muscles in winter. He'd rigged the wooden sheath of his nihonto with a sling that carried it down his back, the grip extending above his right shoulder. The fact that it had no guard between blade and handle allowed it to rest flat. A slight effort of will, an extension of his ki, kept it hidden from view most of the time. By the time he ghosted through the barbed wire, avoiding the sentry lights, he had shrugged off both the stiffness and the questions.

The light was on in their apartment as he came up to the door, so he made no extraordinary effort to be quiet. Masumi was probably working on the wedding dress, and Sasuke had taken to sitting with her, reading aloud to help pass the time together.

They were definitely not reading when he came in through the doorway. A glance showed Masumi sitting on Sasuke's lap and the kiss looked to be a deep one. Kenshin turned right around and went back outside, standing on their wooden square of a porch for a moment to contemplate his options. The laundry was almost always busy and warm, and although he could do without the former, the latter was a definite plus. The lights were off in Rec 7 and it was a good bet that it was locked - with all the art supplies for the school in there, they didn't take chances – but he knew where they hid the key, and that's where he'd told Sasuke he was going. Rec 7 it was.

Unfortunately, it left him too much time to think, and he went back over the scene with Mousey-man. There was something about him that set Kenshin's nerves tingling. The man wasn't hostile, unlike Hosokawa's overt nastiness. In a way, he was almost too friendly, too obsequious. Kenshin had never trusted anyone who tried to be too chummy. Iizuka had provided an ample excuse to avoid that kind. It was best to hope the intimidation had worked. Often, it was all that was necessary. He couldn't count the potential fights out of which he'd been able to talk other Immortals, or the fights that had ended in a non-permanent death and the other Immortal hadn't come back.

_But did he not come back because of your intimidation, or for other reasons?_ asked that sly, too-knowing voice in his head. He hated that voice. It had been around since Tomoe died, causing him to second-guess himself.

'They didn't come back because they knew they couldn't beat me,' he thought back at the voice, firmly.

_Are you sure?_

Once, he had been, but there was one fight that he wasn't so sure about, back when he'd met Duncan and Fitz. Memory took him back to a dark race track…

_It was after midnight, and with the clash of blade-on-blade stilled, the silence was almost overwhelming. There was only the faint hiss of a few scattered gas lights that lined the walkways around the big grandstand. The stables behind the smaller stand along the backstretch remained dark and quiet. Ashton Dalrymple, an Immortal social hanger-on who often visited the track with moneyed friends, was taking a short nap courtesy of the flat of Kenshin's sword against his temple. Dalrymple had been spoiling for a fight; eager to prove himself against what seemed an easy target: a short, slender jockey with a quiet manner and a habit of avoiding him. He'd finally waited in the dark near the track until the three other Immortals returned from a night out after the races, and then called out the one he wanted._

"_Kenshin Himura, I am Ashton Dalrymple of Leigh's Abbey. Fight me." Then he struck, without giving Kenshin a chance to talk his way out of another confrontation._

_Fitz and Duncan had jumped out of the way – the Rules demanded that they stay out of the fight - and Kenshin had had to draw his sword. Dalrymple had been good, better than many, and Kenshin had pulled out a few tricks to set him up for the blow that had finally put him to sleep. He didn't follow through with the beheading; he simply wiped the long blade of the nihonto and sheathed it again._

"_You should take him now or he'll come after you again," Duncan said from the shadows under the grandstand._

"_Then I will fight him again. I will not kill," Kenshin said._

"_He one won't stop until you do," Fitz said, blowing a cloud of aromatic smoke from the pipe he'd lit during the fight, as casually as if he were in London watching a play._

"_Then I'll fight him as many times as is necessary until he gets the message. He can't beat me."_

"_You will be the challenge that he trains for," Duncan said. "Eventually, he will get good enough, and he'll take a lot of heads in the meantime, which will make him stronger than you. By not killing, you're missing out on the advantage the rest of us have, especially guys like that."_

_Kenshin shrugged. "Then he'll be stronger. I've fought people stronger than me. It's not the only thing that determines who wins."_

"_Then I'll do it," Duncan said, stepping forward and drawing his katana._

"_No." Kenshin stepped between the Scotsman and the fallen Immortal. "No one dies here tonight."_

"_He's a danger to all of us."_

"_Then you can fight him in your own time. No one dies here tonight."_

"_You're an idiot."_

"_I've been called that before." Kenshin shrugged. "I'm sure I'll be called that again."_

_Duncan stared at him, obviously weighing his chances of beating Kenshin to get to the other man based on the fight he'd just seen. He glanced at Fitz and then slid the katana back into the sheath._

"_All right, you win."_

Kenshin had never seen Dalrymple at the track again. Duncan and Fitz had sworn that they didn't know where he went – maybe his friends had gotten tired of him mooching off them, or his gambling debts had mounted to the point where he'd had to leave town, or he'd been thrown in jail - but that glance had stayed in Kenshin's mind. The other two Immortals had begged off seeing the mare the three had been arguing about before the fight, citing the lateness of the hour and the fact that the people of the track woke at dawn. There had been no explosions, no lightning or wind or other disturbance that often accompanied a Quickening, and Kenshin had assumed they'd just gone home to their lodgings, but what if they had simply taken Dalrymple somewhere else? Then Kenshin was as guilty of the man's death as if he'd done it himself.

Kenshin took a gum eraser and gently blotted at the stray line his pencil had scribed. This line of thought was as wayward as his pencil, and neither was getting him closer to finishing the picture in time for Obata-sensei's next art show.

He'd roughed out a drawing of Tatsuya and a couple neighborhood boys building a snowman in the firebreak between the buildings and was starting to fill in details when the door opened. He didn't look up; he didn't need to. Sasuke's embarrassed ki had preceded him.

"I thought you might be in the laundry," Sasuke said. "But they said they hadn't seen you so I came here. I thought it had to be you, or Mine working late on her sketches."

"She wasn't, tonight."

Sasuke looked at the drawing. "Cute. You do it from memory. I'd have to have them in front of me."

"I was taught to memorize detail a long time ago. It comes in handy."

Sasuke was quiet for a while, watching, and Kenshin continued to work. He wasn't a temperamental kind of artist. Hiko had taught him to draw as a way of remembering detail, and he had picked it up again after his first death as a way to remember his family. It had eased the ache of losing them and calmed his spirit. It had grown into a kind of meditation, but one that was more acceptable in busy places than practicing kata.

"Sorry about earlier." Sasuke said. He was sitting on a bench with his elbows on his knees and his hands loosely clasped, staring down at them.

"You could've warned me – sock on the doorknob or something. It's not like I don't know about such things." Annoyed and a bit embarrassed himself earlier, now Kenshin was just amused.

"It just…kind of happened. Besides, a sock's a bit obvious, don't you think? Everyone would know."

Kenshin laughed. "Sasuke, everyone does know." He waved the pencil at the ceiling. "You're both young and healthy and the walls don't go all the way up. How could they not know? But it's like those paper-walled houses in Japan – no one is going to say anything."

Sasuke grimaced. "Don't tell Masumi; she'll never warm up again!"

"Nothing could induce me to broach such a topic with your wife, thank you," Kenshin said with repressive dignity. "We'd both die of embarrassment. It might not be a bad idea, though, for me to see about moving to another apartment. You don't really need me hanging around." Kenshin stood and leaned the board his picture was taped to against the wall where other works-in-progress rested.

"That's enough for this night. Let's go home," he said.

xxx

Hosokawa looked at the papers in front of him with contempt. There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to become an American export, or whatever it was they planned to do with people who didn't answer their silly questions the way they wanted.

First, though, he was going to deal with the Himura family, including Himura Battousai. Then, when the war was over and he could move freely again, if there were more of them left in Japan, they would never know why a different form of death and destruction was raining down on them.

xxx

_Author's Note_

_Okay, on the last chapter, I called it my "annual chapter" as a bit of a joke. Looks like it's true. Please accept my profuse apologies to the length of time between these chapters. It's a lot more difficult to shorten the time span than I thought it would be. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but it's time to just push forward. Once I get the whole thing hammered out, it might get a serious revision. That may be once I'm retired, at the rate I'm putting out chapters. :P Read, enjoy, let me know what you think. You're the only reason I haven't given up in frustration yet._

_Vocabulary_

_Bokken – wooden practice sword_

_Inu – dog. An epithet used to describe people in the camp who worked with the administration._

_Kata – a set series of moves in martial arts_

_Ki – swordsman's spirit_

_Nihonto – Japanese sword_

_Ryu tsuisen – one of Hiten Mitsurugi's aerial maneuvers, leaping into the air and then hammering down on the opponent _

_Seiza – On the knees and sitting back on the heels with the tops of the feet on the floor with big toes crossed. The body is upright and straight, but relaxed and the hands usually rest lightly on the knees._

_Zen – a state of balance_


	21. Chapter 21

_The standard disclaimer applies - I don't own Rurouni Kenshin or Highlander._

The Dance

1943

Kenshin got to the dining hall late on a gloomy May afternoon. Kisho and Sasuke looked like a pair of schoolboys caught after class to finish homework - both of them hunched over printed pages with pencils clutched tightly to assist in concentration.

"Where have you been?" Kisho asked. He'd finished his duties as school janitor within an hour of the last bell ringing. He'd expected Kenshin to be right behind him, not an hour later and covered with flecks of sawdust and paint.

"Building sets for the play," Kenshin replied.

"What play is that?" Sasuke asked.

"The high school is doing 'Our Town'," Kisho said. "Daisuke tried out because he's over the moon about the little girl playing the lead, but he only got a bit part."

"Oh, I remember now."

"He's helping with sets, too, as is Hiroki," Kenshin said. "What are you guys up to?"

"Loyalty questionnaire. The deadline to turn them in is coming up and we still don't have any answers about the hard ones, so we're toughing it out. Want to join us?" Sasuke asked, with a notable lack of enthusiasm.

"Nah, I'm done. Turned it in weeks ago."

"Really?" Sasuke looked impressed, and then looked back at his paper. What did you put for number twenty-seven?"

"Which one was that?"

"The one about serving in the armed forces."

"I said I would but my religious beliefs dictate that it should be in a non-combative position. I will fight only when forced and I will not kill. Period."

"You're going to get deported," Kisho said gloomily. "What about twenty-eight? The one about foreswearing the emperor? That makes us people without a country."

"Tom's never sworn loyalty to the emperor," Sasuke said. "He's American."

"Yeah, it's a bad question, and I told them that. Both points, really – that it puts Japanese-Americans in the position of implying loyalty to the emperor that they never have given and makes Issei people without a country and traitors in Japan if they get deported. And that if they really want to know what we're thinking here, they just need to come ask us."

Kenshin was cheerfully matter-of-fact. He wasn't about to mention that he had, in fact, sworn loyalty to the Emperor eighty years ago, and that his answer hadn't foresworn him, either. He loved the country of his birth, even if he hadn't lived there for a while and didn't agree with the current political agenda. He didn't know if it was the Emperor pushing the agenda or the army, but it didn't matter. In many ways, he was still a true son of Japan.

He didn't know for sure what the consequences of his answers would be, but there were benefits any way he looked at it. While he loved his family, the longer he stayed with them, the more likely something would happen that they would find out who he was. In his fifty years as an Immortal, he'd only ever confessed the truth about the matter to two non-Immortals – ones whom he'd been sure would never reveal it. Every Immortal he'd spoken to about it, and they were limited, had agreed that the fewer people who knew, the better. If he was sent to another camp, well, that wouldn't be so bad. Maybe there would be a possibility of escape along the way. With any luck, Hosokawa would go, too, and they could find a more private place to settle their differences. In fact, he had little doubt that Hosokawa would be shipped out with any dissidents, if that's what the administration was considering. The other Immortal had been too open in his criticism during the elections not to have been noticed and marked. Not that he was particularly quiet now, with all the upheaval the questionnaire had caused. At least the questionnaire had turned his focus to things political and he had left the Himura family alone.

Kisho eyed his paper. "You fit all of that in this little space?"

"I write small," Kenshin smiled. "What's that about being deported?"

"The rumor is that if you don't put down the answers they want, they'll deport you."

"Oh. Well, there are always rumors. It's not hard to guess what they want you to say, but I just feel like that's lying. If they want to deport me because I told the truth about what I thought, well, I guess this isn't the country I thought it was. After all, they make you swear to tell the truth in court."

"If we ever get a day in court, which we haven't so far," Kisho said.

"True. Well, if I go, I'll have an opportunity to learn Japanese after all," he said flippantly.

"I might be there to help you," Kisho said, marking a couple of places on the paper. "I'm putting 'Buddhist' for religion even though I know they want me to put 'Christian'. It's too late to change me now and I rather like the idea of reincarnation. It's better than burning in a permanent hell and I'm not sure I wouldn't, if I believed in it. At least with Buddhism, hell is temporary and you can work your way out of it. What did you put?" He leaned over to peer at Sasuke's form.

"I said 'Methodist'. It's what Masumi and I used to get me the job at the YMCA, seeing as they wouldn't have hired me if I'd said I was non-Christian."

"Whoops, did I make a mistake, then, when little Shinta passed?" Kenshin asked, concerned. "I said you were Shinto and I think they did the funeral that way."

Sasuke grinned. "You know Shinto – we accept any tradition's celebrations. The Christian ones are so elaborate - they appeal to our sense of pageantry, especially the Catholic ones. But we chose Methodist because it was easier than Catholic, which has a lot more class work and memorization. We were graduate students with a new baby – not much time for religious studies on top of everything else. I won't say there isn't something that appeals – besides the fun holidays – but we grew up Shinto so the old habits are hard to break. I don't guess it's anything to get hung up about. I suppose we'll be expected to show up at the church, though." He sighed. "I'd really rather spend that time playing with my kids, not watching them squirm through a lecture."

Kisho folded his paper and put it into an envelope. "So are my boys really being any help on this play?"

"Oh, yeah. They're actually both rather handy," Kenshin smiled. "It's the older fellows I'm having trouble with. Some of the dads have offered to help build sets, but you'd think they were building to last a thousand years and everything is so heavy. They don't seem to take into account that some of the pieces need to move every now and then. And that they'll just be torn down in a week or so. Hiroki's been pretty good about scrounging things to make props from – and then making them. He's got a good imagination."

"I've been a little worried about him," Kisho admitted. "He seemed to disappear a lot last winter and he's still carrying that stick around. That foot must be healed by now."

"He hasn't shown any lameness in practice," Sasuke said. "In fact he's been working so hard, I was thinking about testing him for menkyo kaiden. There really isn't anything else I can teach him."

"He's only fifteen. Isn't that young to be testing for master?" Kisho asked doubtfully.

"Not at all." Sasuke shrugged. "Myojin Yahiko, who was my grandmother's first student, tested at that age. Some of them just have it then. I used to watch Myojin-sensei and my father when they practiced, after the students had gone home – that's the advantage of living at the dojo. They were phenomenal. Hiroki's like that. He's a natural. What do you think, Tom?"

"I think he's grown up a lot in the last year or so since I met him. I can't necessarily speak a lot to his skills with the wooden sword, but his unarmed skills are quite high. And he's gotten quieter. I wonder if some of the mouthiness was simply a defense against an outside world that didn't see him the way he saw himself. Here, he's accepted. I think all the practice has given him self confidence and he's thinking more clearly. I hope that will translate outside this camp, too, whenever they finally let us out."

"Well, let's get through the wedding, at least," Kisho said. "Yuki has been so busy making paper flowers that she hasn't had time for anything else. The apartment's so full of flowers that it's almost impossible to walk in. I don't know if we can hold out another two weeks. We'll be popping flowers out of our ears by then."

"Masumi's been doing a lot of sewing, too," Sasuke nodded. "You don't think Daisuke will be upset that I haven't tested him yet? He did start training first."

"He won't mind." Kisho shrugged. "He's always known that Hiroki is the more physically talented of the two of them. His grades are still better – that's always been his bragging point with his brother. Although his kid brother is catching up, when he can curb his impatience with the teaching methods."

"Hiroki likes getting his hands dirty," Kenshin said. "Experience teaches him better than lectures."

"That's what I've always been afraid of," Kisho said gloomily. "Especially with that boy, Henry, graduating and enlisting. He and the boys were pretty thick from Tanforan to here, and I think Hiroki, in particular, would have been right behind him in line if he was old enough to enlist. I'm not sure Daisuke won't next year, if the war's still going on."

"I'm not sure that's really fair, them coming around and recruiting from the camps," Sasuke said, thoughtfully. "It makes the young men here feel that they have to enlist or they appear disloyal. And what's the point in fighting for freedom abroad if you don't have any at home? I'm glad Tatsuya's only four and this will, with any luck, be over with by the time he's eighteen."

"What if they assign them to the Pacific?" Kisho asked. "I'll bet my brothers' boys are champing at the bit to fight us, if they aren't already. As much as we left Hiroshima because we couldn't get along with my family or Yuki's, I still don't want my boys fighting their cousins. Gods, what a mess."

That was certainly something they all agreed on. Sasuke signed his paper and put it into the envelope. With the kitchen staff making an extra clatter in the back, and the servers coming forth to shoo people out of the hall, it was time they got cleaned up for dinner and returned with their families.

xxx

In Rec 33, there was a meeting going on that had nothing to do with the various religious icons on the tables and walls. Instead, there were rows of men in seiza facing an old man at the head of the room. He was the only one with a cushion, in deference to both age and rank. Most of his hair was gone, and his face was a mass of liver spots and wrinkles, hiding old scars, but the black eyes beneath white brows were sharp and knowing. The gnarled hands resting on his thighs trembled with age, but rumor had it that in his youth, he could break a man with his bare hands. Flanking him were two others, not as old but stronger, with solemn, impassive faces. Had they been in kimono, hakama, and kataginu, it would have been impossible to date them. Only the pressed trousers and open-collared shirts indicated 1940's. They were the mob boss' trusted lieutenants.

He dismissed them all, but motioned to Hosokawa as the man began to rise with the rest.

"Hosokawa, we need to talk. Stay."

Hosokawa subsided rigidly back into seiza as the others filed out.

"Hosokawa, you've done very well in your time in San Francisco. You've sent us some very good prospects. I have been very happy with the decision to send you there. Until recently, that is. Since this relocation, I've been getting some disturbing reports about your conduct. I need to remind you that we do business in the Japanese manner, not the American manner. I think we need to go over the rules again, yes?"

It was a question, but Hosokawa knew it wasn't really a question.

"Hai," he said, throat suddenly dry. He bowed his head to the floor.

"Ah, you do remember some things of Japan. Good. Sit up. Now, rules: always deal from position of strength. You have done this well. You have proven yourself to be a strong fighter, and there are times, I regret to say, that we need strong fighters. They keep our territory secure. Here in Topaz, we run most of the gambling operations and we do so quiet, so those who know, turn a blind eye. We share the territory of the town by mutual consent. There is a rule of no gambling here, but we and the other gangs can run our games if we don't stir things up. But you are starting to stir, and because you ignore some rules, our restless youth follow your example. This attracts attention we do not want. Next, outside people – non-gamblers – we don't involve them in our business. You understand? People outside can cause problems for us. People look bad on us if we harm those outside, and then they report us to authorities. Then our business decreases. We are not Chicago mob who forces protection on people and act with more muscle than brains. Yes?"

"Hai."

"This you have problem with. I hear of Niitsu-Himura family. You started the problem at the race track and it has gone on some time. I thought it was just the place, but you continue the quarrel here. This is a bad idea. Niitsu, I don't know, but I have watched these weeks. He is a bad man to have as an enemy. I can see this in his eyes and how he carries himself and what he does. He teaches unarmed combat to Himura's class and every morning, he runs around the outside of the whole city several times to stay fit. I think he would be a bad man in a fight. Much more than when he broke up that attack on Obata-sensei. Then there is Himura. He practices his fighting skills in peace and for self-improvement, but he is not untalented and not stupid. If Himura comes home to hurt wife and children, then we have problem. Our group has run afoul of this family in Japan, and I have no reason to think the American side is less. Grandfather of this man is still well-remembered…"

The old man continued but Hosokawa tuned him out. How little he knew! Niitsu was exactly the man, he wanted to shout. Are you so blind you don't see? You weren't even sucking a teat then and you're trying to tell _me_ about Battousai? I was there when he took that brat kid from us, and in Kyoto, too, though he doesn't remember me from either place. Why would he? I was just a nameless face, then. And in all this time, following all the brotherhood's rules, I've gotten nowhere. Nowhere but dead, and then moving on to another branch. I want to be…I should be…you!

xxx

"No, no, no, no!" Tatsuya pushed away the white shirt in Masumi's hands. "Don't want to dress up. Want to go play outside."

"But Hana-chan is getting married and would like to see us there," Masumi coaxed. She was already dressed and with the exception of hat and gloves, ready to go. Cho had unbent on the subject of dresses for this occasion and wore one that matched her mother's, with a hair ribbon instead of a hat and white Bobbie socks instead of hose. She was in the communal living space buckling on freshly shined shoes. Sasuke stood in front of the mirror over the wash basin working on his tie while Kenshin, who wasn't going to the service, sat backwards on one of the chairs, arms resting on the back of it to watch the proceedings.

"Don't care 'bout weddings. Don't like scratchy clothes." He folded his arms so Masumi couldn't peel off the t-shirt he was wearing.

"Tatsuya, remember how your behavior reflects on us all. Just get dressed so we can go," Sasuke ordered.

"Don't wanna!" Tatsuya's voice rose in both pitch and volume.

"You know, I'm not going. He can stay with me," Kenshin offered. He could feel the little boy's restless energy and sympathized. It had been a week of rain and everyone had been cooped up inside. "We'll play off some of the energy and meet you for the reception later."

"He's going to have to learn to do his social duty some day," Sasuke said, coming out to get into his shoes now that the tie was conquered.

"Plenty of time for that. Weddings just aren't a boy thing. Let us work this off and he'll be on his best behavior later. You're going to be late."

Sasuke checked his watch. "You're right there. Good thing Rec 5 is only a block and a half away. Alright, he's yours, Tom. We'll be having dinner at Block 5's dining hall with the wedding party, so we'll meet you at the high school for the reception. Come on, Masumi."

"All right." Masumi was followed out of the children's room by a mutinous-looking Tatsuya who hadn't yet grasped his reprieve. She turned back to her son as Sasuke helped her into a light jacket. "Please be good for Uncle Tom and dress up for the party when he asks you." To Kenshin, she said, "I've left his things out on the bed."

"I'll handle it when the time comes. I'm sure he'll be in a much better frame of mind by then."

"And miracles will never cease," Sasuke muttered. "All right, ladies, let's go."

After the door closed, Kenshin rose from the chair. "Okay, grab your jacket and get your shoes on. We're going to go play for a while before dinner."

Tatsuya brightened visibly and did what he was told.

They went to the fire break between the perimeter road and the fence with Kenshin's baseball and bat, a gift from Fitz the previous Christmas. Kenshin also grabbed a short piece of four by four post that he had stashed under the front porch. He laid the bat and post aside and worked with the little boy on throwing the ball for a while. Like any young child, Tatsuya needed guidance and practice to release the ball at the appropriate time. Most of the throws went into the dirt between man and boy.

"You need to let go sooner," Kenshin said, moving his arm in an arc. "Up here instead of down here. Try to throw it to…" He took a quick look behind him. "…the guard in the tower. See how high he is? You think you can knock him out of there?"

Tatsuya grinned and lobbed the ball again. This time it sailed just above Kenshin's head as he knelt on the dusty ground. He caught it in one hand.

"Excellent! Do that again." He tossed the ball back gently and Tatsuya watched it go past his outstretched hands. The little boy turned to chase it down.

"Okay, when you catch, you have to get behind it. Try that nice high throw again," Kenshin said.

They practiced throwing and catching until Kenshin sensed Tatsuya was getting a little frustrated. The percentage of high throws was starting to outweigh the low ones, so he was picking up on the idea even if he couldn't do it every time. Kenshin picked up the bat.

"Ready to try the bat? It's going to be a lot harder, especially since it's kind of big for you."

Tatsuya nodded. "Bat like Hiroki," he said.

Kenshin grinned. "He's your batting hero, isn't he? You'll have to work very hard. Hiroki is very good. But remember, he didn't start good. He started young, just like you, and practiced a lot." He set the post on end, grinding it into the already dusty ground to get it to stand solidly, and set the ball on top of it. Altogether, they were about chest high on Tatsuya.

"A good batter like Hiroki can see the ball coming and know when to swing and what angle to get the ball to go where he wants. We have to start first with knowing how to swing…"

Patiently, Kenshin showed Tatsuya how to stand and how to swing, adjusting the little hands until the boy could hold the bat level at full extension. In his mind's eye, though, he could see a tall, muscular young man showing a small red-haired boy how to hold a sword with his hands just right, and then how to swing…

xxx

The reception was held in the high school gym and open to all. Yuki and several of the teachers had decorated it with paper flowers and streamers, and the camp's music school provided a band. One of the nearby classrooms had been set up as a play room for the younger children, staffed by volunteers so that parents could enjoy the dance without worry.

Kenshin had arrived with a bathed and neatly groomed Tatsuya as promised, greeting Hana and her new husband, and coaxing Tatsuya to present the couple with a wedding gift, wrapped in a bit of Masumi's leftover material. When they unwrapped it to reveal a carved wooden figure of two cranes with their necks entwined, Tatsuya was reluctant to let it go, as he was with all of Kenshin's carved animals. Cho managed to distract him with a description of the play room and an offer to take him there before he made a scene.

"Whew! Storm averted," Sasuke said, as the adults watched brother and sister skip down the line of waiting guests towards the gym door.

Kenshin laughed. "If he'd known that's what he was carrying, he would never have given it to you."

"It's beautiful. Thank you so much," Hana said, her husband echoing her. The gift was passed on to others in the wedding party, who exclaimed over it before setting it with the other wedding presents on a table against the wall.

Sasuke, Masumi, and Kenshin moved out into the room, as there were still people waiting to greet the newlyweds. Only when everyone had been through the line and had a chance to congratulate the couple did the band start playing. The newlyweds did the first dance alone, with others joining them for subsequent ones. Sasuke and Masumi abandoned Kenshin for a dance, apologizing, but he had waved them on. They hadn't had much time together with Masumi working so hard on the wedding dress, the ones she and Cho wore, and a new suit for Hiroki since he'd done nothing but grow all winter and was self-conscious about his wrists and ankles showing. Kenshin hadn't minded standing near the wall, watching the dancers and listening to the music.

Sasuke and his fellow Peace Patrollers had arranged to keep a watchful eye out as they danced or talked amongst friends. Topaz had a population of 6000 people; there were bound to be differences of opinion even without the problems caused by the questionnaire. Of course, not everyone showed up, but a large part of the east side had, and the gym was crowded. After a couple of hours, Kenshin and Sasuke had ended up at the same end of the gym; Sasuke because he was making a circuit to check up on things and Kenshin because it was the end farthest away from Yuki and her never-ending attempts to introduce him to nice young women who would make a discerning man a fine wife. He'd put up with two such attempts, fortunately on waltzes, which he could do. Jitterbugging was out of the question. But he'd hardly known what to say to the girls; they'd seemed so young. They didn't stick in his mind after the music ended, and after the second one, he'd drifted down the room to get away from Yuki's sphere of influence. He had a sense of impending disaster about the whole thing.

"It's quiet so far," Sasuke said, when they met. "I just checked with Sato and Yamaguchi."

"I'm glad things have calmed down from this spring, though honestly, with the deadline coming up, I was thinking the dissenters would stir the pot again."

"Do you think they have a target? I'm glad the officials acted so quickly in getting Obata-san out of here once he got out of the hospital, but I never would have guessed they'd attack him in the first place."

"Missouri is a long way away, and much safer for him. And he and his wife are closer to their boy. That's good for them. As to a target, I can't think of anyone besides you-all in the Peace Patrol, but they know better than to attack you. Well, they might think of me as – what do they call it? Enu?" Kenshin mispronounced the word.

"Inu, with a long 'E' sound," Sasuke corrected. "It means dog. I supposed in America the connotation would be the same as rat."

"Dogs, rats…can't figure out if I'm in a zoo or a zodiac," Kenshin snorted. "Anyway, they might like to see me as a target, but somehow I don't think they do."

"I'm sure they do," Sasuke corrected again. "They just don't want to risk you. You're a scary fellow."

Kenshin made a scoffing noise, but didn't have a chance to reply.

"Daddy? Uncle Tom?" Cho appeared came out of the throng, looking worried. Like many of the older children, she'd divided her time between the play room and the gym, dancing with her friends or running up and down the halls. "Something's not right. It smells like the sewers and I can't find Tatsu-chan. He was in the play room earlier, but he's not there now and he's not with Mama."

"Smells like the sewers?" Sasuke took an experimental sniff, but the air smelled more like too many hot bodies in too small a place, a mélange of sweat and warring perfumes. The town really only smelled like the sewers when the wind came strong from the west, where the sewage plant was.

"You know, Uncle Tom. Like at Tanforan. We talked about it..."

Kenshin's gaze sharpened and Sasuke blinked at the sudden, intense focus and the pinpricks of gold in his friend's eyes.

"Cho, go back to your mom and stay with her. We'll find Tatsuya." Kenshin watched only long enough to make sure she was heading towards Masumi and Yuki, and then pulled Sasuke out the gym door and into the cooler corridor beyond.

"It's Hosokawa, and I'll bet he either has Tatsuya or is planning something."

"Tom, you can't accuse the man just because you don't like him. He's a troublemaker, but…"

Kenshin was already striding down the hall, moving faster than Sasuke thought a short guy could. He lengthened his own stride to catch up and better hear the words Kenshin was tossing back at him.

"It's not because I don't like him. Cho said it smells like the sewer. That's exactly what she said Hosokawa felt like just before he grabbed her at Tanforan."

"Yes, but what does she mean?"

"Your daughter reads ki, Sasuke. I've been working with her a bit to help her understand what she's feeling. She usually describes emotions or energy by how things smell or taste because she doesn't have the frame of reference to know what they really are. I've been helping her clarify that."

"Ki is just a myth the old samurai tell, Tom. Grandpa Sano always said my other grandfather's ki could make leaves snap in half, but he always exaggerated when he told stories. Myojin-sensei said he could, too, and the two of them would laugh about it. It was a joke. No one can snap leaves with their mind."

"It's not done with the mind; it's life energy, particularly that of emotion. I've had a bad feeling all night and she just pinpointed it. There are too many people here and it's too cluttered for me, but Cho senses it on a simpler level. She cuts through all the noise. That's why she got it and I didn't. He can't have gone too far since she's only just felt it, so check around the buildings closest. Look inside the laundries and showers since they're less populated at this hour. You check the school and the blocks east; I'll start north and work my way towards Block 6 since the guy lives over there. He might go that way or he might head towards the fence – it he can get past it, he can do all kinds of stuff in the desert and no one will know."

Kenshin exited the school and ran across the open lot of Block 25 towards Block 19. Sasuke could see him flash though the lights from the windows of the barracks on Block 26 before he disappeared into the darkness. Sasuke shook his head and turned back into the school, peering into classrooms and closets. Nothing. It seemed like nothing more than a wild goose chase, but Tom's urgency was almost as convincing as Cho's face. She was a responsible child; she would have looked for her brother before coming to him. That, more than anything else, kept him moving through the halls until he was sure his son wasn't there. Then he headed outside through the east door.

xxx

There were so many people clustered at the high school that even away from it, Kenshin couldn't get a sense of where Tatsuya was. All he got was a continued feeling that something bad was going to happen, and soon. All he wanted was his sword, left at home so that no one at the dance would bump into it and make it visible. He kept his senses open as he bolted towards Block 7, but it wasn't until he was approaching the laundry and shower building on that block that he caught a bright, angry ki.

"Tatsuya?" he called as he pushed through the door.

Mine was standing at one of the washtubs running clothing through the rollers to squeeze out the excess water. She looked at him curiously, suddenly alert.

"He's not here, Tom. Did he go missing again?"

"Yeah…" Kenshin's eyes darted about the room, finally spotting the source of the angry ki – another toddler, whose expression indicated an explosion was imminent. "I was hoping he was here."

"You guys are over at the high school – that's a long way for him by himself."

"I thought he might have decided to go home. You can't tell with him – he's a determined little guy and when he sets out to do something, he usually does. I saw the lights on here and thought he might have come in. I thought you'd be over there, too."

Mine made a face. "Nah. With everyone over there, I have better access to the washing machines. It's too crowded any other time."

Kenshin grinned. "You're almost as anti-social as me."

"I'm not anti-social. I just have priorities, most of which do not include large mobs of noisy people. Besides, I'm single and I like it, and Yuki views dances as an opportunity to match people up. I'm surprised you're braving it."

"I'm security. You know there's usually as much fighting as dancing at these things. All it takes is one guy looking at a girl the wrong way. Hey, I gotta go find him, but on the off-chance he does wander in, hang onto him, will you?"

"Yeah, no problem." Mine gazed after the empty doorway and swinging door. "No problem if he wants to be hung onto; all kinds of it if he doesn't," she said drily, wincing as the toddler behind her gave voice to dissatisfaction.

Kenshin left the building and ran to the apartment block. All was dark and quiet. He called Tatsuya's name as he entered, but he knew already that the building was empty. In the corner of his room, where he and Kisho had framed the wall between his room and the children's, he moved an unattached sliver of drywall out of the way and pulled his sword from between the 2x4's. Time to go hunting.

xxx

Cho threaded her way through the crowd at the edge of the dance floor. Some were watching the dancers and tapping their feet, but most were simply gossiping: how changeable the weather was; how they couldn't get the garden to grow in this soil; the children were so willful and not obedient to their parents anymore; can you believe they were already discussing building a bigger school in Blocks 24 and 25… Cho let it all float over her head. Getting back to Mama was the important thing, but she had to stop because there was no way through a couple knots of people who were too close and too oblivious to the people around them to realize that no one could get by. The bleachers were creating an obstruction and with no way to move them, there wasn't enough room to pass when people stopped moving between them and the dancers.

"But Mary, why won't you dance with me? It's just a dance." Hiroki's voice, coming from next to the bleachers, away from the crowd and only pitched enough to be heard over the music, but she knew she could recognize that voice wherever it was. She'd known it all her life. There was also something like the humidity they sometimes had gotten in the summer, a tang of winter wind, and a prickle like when she got tears behind her eyes. Frustration, anger, and…yearning? Hopelessness? She tried to put words to the feelings like Uncle Tom had been teaching her. She'd been too upset earlier, when she'd told him and Father about Tatsuya, but he'd understood her shorthand anyway. This was easier since there wasn't the fear and urgency behind it.

"I can't, Hiroki, unless you ask Father first. That's his rule. He wants to talk to the boys so he gets to know them."

That was Mary Sagawa, a pretty, willowy girl in Hiroki's grade. Cho didn't know her except by sight, and she knew from some overheard teasing between the brothers that Hiroki was sweet on her.

"How can I talk to him if he doesn't speak English? Even with your help, I don't know enough Japanese to do more than say hello and comment on the weather."

Cho thought the feeling of humidity was getting a little more oppressive. She was personally getting a little more impatient with the crowd, so she understood it perfectly.

"That's a start," Mary said encouragingly. "Maybe if…" She yelped, Hiroki exclaimed "Hey!", and Cho craned her head, trying to see around the bodies nearby to find out what happened. Now the winter wind was stronger. Hiroki was mad, but somehow, she could tell that it wasn't at Mary.

"Get lost, sister," Cho heard someone say, and there was a surge in the crowd away from the doors that threatened to push her into the dance floor. She was small enough, though, to wiggle between the people now that they were moving and she got to the corner of the bleachers in time to see a couple of the upper class high school girls helping Mary up from the floor.

"What was that all about?" one asked.

"I don't know. That boy just shoved me and hauled Hiroki out of here," Mary answered.

"Jealous boyfriend?" the other girl asked.

"I don't have a boyfriend, and I didn't know that boy. I think he's from the L.A. school. I never saw him in San Francisco."

"Boy stuff then. Best to stay out of the way," the first one said.

'Maybe,' Cho thought, 'and maybe not. Those Santa Anita boys are mean.' She stepped up onto the bleachers, going up a couple of levels until she could see over the crowd. Uncle Tom and Daddy were trying to find Tatsuya, so that left her with finding Mr. Fukuzaki, or perhaps Mr. Sato or Mr. Yamaguchi, to help Hiroki. Surely Daddy and Uncle Tom wouldn't get mad at her for not going directly back to Mama if Hiroki was in danger. The first person she saw, though, was Daisuke, dancing near the end of the gym close to her. She hopped down and wove her way through the crowd, which was thinner now. Most of the people who had been blocking the way had moved on. Mary was gone, too, absorbed into a group of girls who had gone to find their chaperones. She hesitated at the edge of the dance floor, but then plunged ahead. If she waited too long, he'd dance right past her. She tugged at his sleeve.

"Daisuke, you've got to come."

"What? Cho?" Daisuke looked down at her, bemused, and she got the feeling that she'd just burst the balloons and stepped in the cake. She was getting a similar feeling from the girl he was dancing with, whom she didn't know. Well, that was embarrassing.

"I'm sorry, I think Hiroki's in trouble and Daddy and Uncle Tom are looking for Tatsuya and I can't get to your dad…"

Daisuke held up his hands, stopping the rush of words. "I get it. Sorry, Emily. We'll have to finish this dance later. Let me rescue my brother, beat him up for getting in trouble again, and then I'll be back."

"Um, okay…"

Cho didn't wait for anything more. She grabbed him by the sleeve again and towed him towards the door. It was cooler in the hall and much less crowded, although there were a few groups, mostly men, standing around or sitting against the wall, talking. Some of the older Japanese, Cho had noticed, seemed capable of just sitting down anywhere for a conversation without the need for things like chairs.

"Now which way?" Daisuke asked, surveying the hall.

"I don't know; I didn't see which way they went. Mary just said they hauled him out of the gym. Wait a minute…" If she concentrated…

"Hey, did you guys see a bunch of boys come out of here, maybe horsing around and dragging one of them?" Daisuke asked the loiterers.

A couple of the men pointed down the hall to their right just as Cho pointed in the same direction.

"He's mad," Cho said as they went down the hall, Daisuke walking with long strides and Cho trotting beside him. "Maybe…scared? He didn't have his stick with him."

"You don't usually bring a fighting stick to a dance," Daisuke muttered. "Then again, this is my numbskull brother we're talking about. Maybe he should have. Cho, could you go find Mr. Sato and Mr. Yamaguchi? Maybe some of the guys from class? Hiroki's been messed up in something all winter, I think, and it would be good to have back-up."

"Okay." She turned and ran back towards the gym.

xxx

Hiroki was wishing for his stick. It had become so much a part of him that no one seemed to notice that he carried it everywhere, but when he'd picked it up on his way out the door, Kisho had told him to set it down.

"You won't need a stick at a wedding," his father had said sternly. "It'll just get in the way and you'll be tripping people. If you need it that badly, we'll take you up to hospital and get you checked out. It's been eight months since you stepped on that nail. Your foot must be healed by now."

Hiroki had put the stick back in its corner without protest. He knew that any doctor would pronounce him fit, and he certainly didn't need his mother attacking him with medicine again, but he still wished he had it. The junior mob boys had brought reinforcements this time. And their own sticks - an assortment of ball bats, tool handles, and even rebar. Their big mistake when hauling him out of the building had been letting go of him. The ones that had grabbed him had dragged him away from the school to an empty lot and shoved him into a group of their friends as if sheer numbers would be enough to make him cower.

'Time to put Himura-sensei's aikido lessons into practice,' he thought, and took several deep breaths to calm his nerves and loosen his muscles. Relax. Open. Everything and nothing. It was an odd feeling, the way his senses seemed to expand and time seemed to slow. He could almost taste the tang of an approaching storm, mixed with the ever-present dust, a touch of the desert sage, and a whiff of the sewage plant upwind of town. A spiral of wind tossed tiny sage leaves into the air, some of them popping oddly. Closer, he could feel the restless, eager energy of the boys circling him, hear the music of the wedding reception in an odd state of muted and clear, and felt the people inside the building as a happy mass at his back. He'd never felt this in practice, and yet when the first boy moved in, Hiroki knew just what to do, and felt like he had plenty of time to accomplish it. It felt good, and he smiled.

'Too slow; wrong angle,' he thought, and grabbed the boy's wrist with one hand and elbow with the other. A quick sidestep and a twist took the other's momentum and used it to Hiroki's advantage, multiplying it as he went. The boy slammed into the hard-packed dirt, the rebar flying from his hand and the breath leaving his lungs in a whoosh. Another was coming; no time to grab up the rebar and remain in a defensible position. In fact, they were already starting to get the idea that going after him one at a time was not a good plan. The whole group was moving in, looking for an opening. Defense, sensei said. Look for your own opening. They will get in each others' way – if they don't, _maneuver _them into each other's way. Hiroki moved as gracefully as any dancer at the party, slapping aside arms and spinning around bodies, ducking and weaving until an unexpected blow across the ribs brought him back to real time. Dang, that hurt. Narrowly avoiding another blow aimed at his head, he threw himself into a forward roll to give himself space and some time to suck in air.

'Track and field would be a better sport right now', he thought, 'but there's no good way out of this.'

He'd thinned them out a bit, but the rest fell on him in a mass. When it resolved itself, they jerked him upright, two thugs holding his arms while their leader stood back and watched. That one hadn't taken any part in the fight – he'd simply stood back with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his black leather jacket. Now he stepped forward, the dust from the fight settling onto his slicked-back hair in a fine powder and giving a glimpse of what he might look like in thirty years.

"Hiroki Fukuzaki," he drawled. "Sounds like a song. Do you sing, Fukuzaki?"

"No, but I can tell a joke." When the silence drew out as they obviously waited for him to do so, he couldn't help but smirk.

He didn't see the leader move in or the backhanded blow that cut the inside of his cheek against his teeth, but he tasted the iron in his mouth.

"You call that a punch? Cho Himura hits harder than you," he taunted.

"Yeah? Well, we have plans for Baby Bitch."

"You leave her alone," Hiroki warned, a cold knot of fury suddenly in his belly. Cho was like his little sister; no one was going to harm her with him around.

"Oh, I think you have bigger things to worry about than her," the leader said, and motioned to the rest of the gang.

The two holding onto to him clung like leeches, and despite every dirty trick he'd learned from Mr. Niitsu, he could never get more than one off him at a time. He just couldn't move freely and do the damage he wanted to do. Another would always grab him and hold him, letting the rest of the gang use him for a punching bag. When they hauled him upright again, Hiroki could barely stand on his own feet. The two thugs supported him, one eye already swollen closed and the other stinging with blood from a cut somewhere above it. Everything else simply hurt, and between the pain in his stomach and the taste of iron, he really just wanted to throw up.

The leader tapped him under the chin with the handles of a set of nunchucks.

"Now, let's talk about the money," he said conversationally.

"I don't have your money." Hiroki threw as much defiance into the words as he could. It was perfectly true – a lot of it had gone into the kettles and the rest was still under the Admin building – but he knew that didn't matter. They had wanted to beat him and they would continue to, if he couldn't find a way out. Admitting he knew anything about it would only make it worse.

This time it was the nunchucks that slammed into the side of his head. Hiroki's knees buckled but the thugs held him up.

"Wrong answer. Try that one again."

Hiroki spat blood, narrowly missing a wingtip. Out of the corner of his good eye, he saw the nunchucks draw back again.

"Drop it! Drop it now!" Daisuke's voice, angrier than Hiroki had ever heard him.

"Get out of here, Dice!" he yelled.

"No way. Nobody gets to beat on my little brother but me."

Hiroki drew up all the energy he had, using his bent knees to push off the ground and the thugs to brace against, he kicked out at the leader, catching the other off-guard. One foot slammed into a kneecap and the other into the groin.

'Yes!' he thought, just before they dropped him and someone kicked him in the head.

He awoke again lying on his side, dust thick on his tongue and mixing with the blood inside his mouth in an unholy paste. A small hand was patting at his shoulder and Cho was calling his name. She sounded so worried that he couldn't tell her just how much those little pats hurt. Instead, he forced himself to sit up, which made her scoot back a little.

"Hiroki, are you okay? We came as fast as we could."

"I'm fine," he managed, just before his angry stomach made him lean away from her and throw up. He wiped his mouth with his hand, and then his hand on his pants. Well, that took care of the mud paste. "Just fine," he reiterated.

Daisuke squatted in front of them. "You look like hell. Mom's going to kill you."

"Better her than them. Gods, I hurt."

"Yeah, your looks are killing me, too, but that's normal."

"You just said you were fine," Cho protested.

The two brothers grinned at each other, Hiroki wincing at the contraction of abused muscles. Daisuke held out a hand and pulled him to his feet, bracing his little brother until Hiroki found his balance.

"Daisuke, can you get him over to the infirmary while we take these guys to lock-up?" Yamaguchi asked. "Cho, you need to get back to your mother."

"But we haven't found Tatsuya yet."

"Your father and Mr. Niitsu are looking for him. They'll bring him back. I need the rest of you boys to get back inside, too. Make sure Cho gets back to her mother safely."

Hiroki turned his head to get an idea of his surroundings. Having one eye completely closed was not good. Sato and several of the other adult students on the Peace Patrol had the gang members huddled together and encircled, the gang members looking quite a bit the worse for wear. Several of the kendo class' teenage students loitered nearby. Some of them were a little dirty, but from the looks on their faces, they were hoping the gang would put up a fight again. Hiroki got the impression Cho was hoping they would, too, but she reluctantly joined her classmates and they headed back towards the school.

"I don't need to go to the hospital," Hiroki said. "I just need to get cleaned up before Ma gets a look at me or she'll paint me red again."

"Just go, Hiroki. You're a mess and you took quite a beating. I need to make sure you're okay." Yamaguchi turned away and then turned back. "You did well. We could see you from a distance but couldn't get here fast enough. If you'd been using lethal force, that would have all been over within a minute and none of them would have been standing. Your technique was exceptional and your restraint under the circumstances, very commendable. Good job." He nodded and went back to Sato and the others.

"Come on, little brother. Let's get you checked out."

Daisuke steered him around and they set out for the hospital. After a few steps, Hiroki was glad of his brother's support.

"Looks like you are a hero," Daisuke said. "I thought you did pretty well, too."

"How did you know?"

"Cho saw them haul you off and came to get me. I told her to alert Mr. Yamaguchi and the others."

"Heh. I'm surprised she didn't come after them herself. She's got a bit of a temper."

"Make no mistake, she was there - wouldn't go back even when Mr. Sato told her to. She was the one standing over you with a ball bat, fending off anyone who got close. That girl can do some damage."

Hiroki's grin was lopsided. "Never doubted that."

"She's better than I am. When did she catch up to me?"

"While you were playing football and chasing girls. She's been practicing hard this winter. And besides, you're just lame."

"Hmph. You want me to blacken your other eye?"

xxx

The Block 27 dining hall was empty except for a sad-faced older man with a mop washing down the floor and a cook setting bowls of bread dough to rise overnight on a shelf above the ovens. Sasuke came out the front door and paused, listening to the night. The wind was rising, scraping along the tarpaper of the barracks, and he could feel its cool, gritty breath on his cheek. He went through the showers and laundry, asking a woman if a little boy was in the ladies' area, and then peered into Rec 27, trying to see if there was movement within despite the lack of light inside. His eyes searched what he could see of the block ahead of him and the street. To his left, near the fence, he saw a flash of white, a small boy being tugged along by a larger man. Tatsuya had been wearing a white shirt.

"Hey!" he yelled.

The other man looked back at him, then picked up the boy and shoved him between the strands of barbed wired before following himself. They were lost in the blackness before the searchlight swung around. The moonlight was dim, but Sasuke knew the narrow face and slightly buck teeth: Hosokawa. Tom was right.

Sasuke glanced about – he'd seen a flash as the search light had swept by. In the ditch was a length of steel pipe, leftover from the work crews. He had to walk normally until the lights moved away. Anything too quick and they would stay on him to see what he was doing. Once they turned away, he grabbed the pipe and sprinted for the fence, ducking through the wires and the open area east of it until the encroaching sagebrush started to trip him up. After that, he was fast but cautious. He didn't catch up until they were well away from the camp. The noise of the dance was dulled by distance but the wind was picking up. Out here, only the stars and a half moon flirting with tumbling clouds provided any light, but Sasuke didn't need it. He could see the white of Tatsuya's shirt against the dark color of Hosokawa's coat.

"That's far enough! Put him down!" he ordered.

"Ah, a follower. Not the one I wanted, but I can handle you. Maybe your little friend will come out to play. He's been avoiding me, you know." Hosokawa set Tatsuya on the ground and stepped back toward Sasuke. The little boy made no noise at all, just stared with round, frightened eyes.

A soft _shing!_ of metal against metal was the only warning Sasuke got before a blade came speeding at him. He fended it off with the steel pipe, falling easily into a back stance. He blocked the following blows as well, countering each with a series of attacks that didn't get through the other man's guard but did make him wary. His pipe didn't have an edge, but it could still do some damage if it hit. Unfortunately, it also didn't have good balance or any kind of shock absorption in the grip, and wielding it was tiring and numbing.

"So you have some measure of skill. How very surprising. I thought all that talk of using the sword for self-improvement was a cover for the lack of any real swordsmanship in both the style and the instructor. Too bad you don't have an adequate weapon or I might enjoy the warm-up. I didn't think to bring a spare. After all, practice wasn't what I had in mind."

"You talk too much," Sasuke grunted, blocking another sweeping cut and then spinning inside Hosokawa' guard and slamming the pipe into the man's ribs. Hosokawa stumbled away. The sound of the crack was satisfying to Sasuke, but he didn't see the foot coming at him until it was too close to miss. He jerked his head instinctively to avoid it and managed to only take a glancing blow, but it was enough to knock him off his feet and made him lose his grip on the pipe. It went spinning into the darkness.

"Enough!" Hosokawa spat, all pretense of urbanity gone. "You die now!"

Sasuke tensed, fingers digging into the dry soil as he glared at the man in front of him. He wasn't in the best of positions, but he was damned if he'd go quietly. If he could roll and fling a handful of dirt at the same time, he might be able to get inside the blow…

He didn't need to. Metal met metal once again before the strike was completed, but this time it was two swords meeting; Hosokawa at the end of one, and Tom holding the other. Sasuke had never seen such a look on his friend's face before, and maybe it was a trick of the moonlight, but the gold flecks he'd seen earlier in Tom's eyes appeared to have taken over the violet entirely. It was hard to tell; they were narrowed and hard, with his brows drawn down and his face set and angry.

"Battousai! You did come out to play! I am overjoyed," Hosokawa exclaimed, his good humor apparently restored.

"You're a freakin' nutcase," Tom ground out. "What do you mean involving others in this? Our battles aren't fought in public."

"But you wouldn't play with me. It was the only way I could get you to come out. I was beginning to think your reputation was undeserved. Well, in all honesty, I'm still not sure it is," he confided. Then his tone changed entirely, becoming more deadly. "Come on and show me what you can do." Then he lunged at Tom…who wasn't there.

Sasuke blinked. How in the world did the man just disappear like that? And then Tom fell from the sky, his sword slamming down towards Hosokawa's head. The other man managed to get his sword up to block it just in time, and from then on, the blows came almost too fast for Sasuke to separate and recognize each move. Such an interesting fight, with both of them using what seemed to be a variety of kenjutsu styles, some of which he recognized and others he didn't, as well as western fencing and saber techniques. Each of them used fists and feet wherever an opportunity presented itself, trying to throw the other off balance. It was a superb show of swordsmanship and he kept one eye on it as he crawled in the direction of Tatsuya's white shirt, using the sage for cover and hoping the two combatants were too absorbed to notice him. He had to grab his boy and run. The wind was blowing more strongly now, with the moon blotted out and thunder growling closer. Perhaps they could disappear in the storm if it rained hard enough.

Hosokawa's crowing made him pause. The man was closer than he'd thought.

"Yes! That's the Battousai of whom I've heard. Show me your Hiten Mitsurugi techniques. Let me learn them before I kill you."

"I left that name behind a long time ago. I have no desire to take it up again," Tom said. "Nor will I pass on Hiten Mitsurugi; especially not to such as you."

"You know I'll just get it along with your Quickening. It would be nice of you to give me a preview."

"If you want nice, get yourself reassigned. We've got enough to deal with without some half-crazed Immortal dashing about making trouble."

"Well, then, if that's the way you feel about it, maybe this will up the ante a bit." Hosokawa swooped down and grabbed up Tatsuya just as Sasuke made a diving grab for the boy and missed. Sasuke rolled into a crouch just to Hosokawa's left.

"Whoopsie! Just a little too late, Daddy." The gleaming tip of Hosokawa' blade hovered in front of Sasuke's eyes. "Now, who do I do first? Better put that blade away, Battousai, or I might get nervous. Then we won't know what will happen, will we?"

Tom slowly sheathed the sword and took a step forward with his left foot, edging just that much closer to his opponent. "Leave them out of it. This is you and me fighting."

"But they're so young and tender. I love the look adults get on their faces when I kill children in front of them, especially if the child is theirs. But really, I might have to do the man first. Don't want him attacking me while I do the kid and really, the toddler can't get too far, can he?"

Sasuke glanced at Tom and saw the man sink a little lower into his back stance, left foot forward, sword sheathed but his right hand still on the handle low down near his left hip. The wind kicked up the dust and sage around him, tiny leaves shredding in it. His eyes – they really did look golden – seemed to be giving Sasuke a message as Tom looked pointedly from him to the squirming child for just the briefest of moments. Sasuke coiled his body a little tighter.

Then Tatsuya bit Hosokawa's arm, hard.

Hosokawa's sword dipped out of line as he dropped Tatsuya, and in that moment, with the boy safely out of the way, Tom and Sasuke both struck. Sasuke came off the ground in a tight dive, wrapping his arms around his son before the boy even hit the ground and rolling away from the two combatants. Tom drew his sword with god-like speed when they were clear, sweeping it in a diagonal arc from Hosokawa's right hip to left shoulder, slicing through muscle, bone, and soft tissue as if it were nothing more than rice paper. But that wasn't the end of the move. Sasuke saw the second part as he rolled to a stop, pressing Tatsuya's face against his chest. Tom kept turning with the momentum of the first strike, spinning around to deliver a second, backhanded blow across the neck. Hosokawa's head rolled across the desert sand while his body slumped to the ground.

For just one moment, the expression on Tom's face was horrified. Then the lightning struck.

xxx

_Author's note:_

_I don't think there are any Japanese words that I didn't explain in context_

_This chapter comes with a bit more Author's Note than previous ones. I want to apologize for my long break from this story. I know some of you are still hanging in there waiting to see what happens and believing me when I say I won't ever NOT finish a story. Keep believing. This is kind of what happened._

_ I really had a hard time with Chapter 20. I didn't like the way it came together, or didn't come together. I finally published what I had, determined to keep going forward and at least get through the story in a state of rough draft, if nothing better. I didn't like it so much that I actually forgot that I'd published it, so I've kept on in the last year, trying to come up with a better version and failing. Finally, in about October, I re-read the entire (so far) Kaze Hikaru series and then the Rurouni Kenshin series, trying to get myself back into the mood and time period – Bakumatsu to Meiji to (hopefully) 1940's USA. Then I went onto and that's when I realized that I had already published Chapter 20. Well. Huh. Duh. Face-palm._

_ Fortunately, in the meantime, Chapter 21 was largely writing itself. You see, I don't write a story chronologically. I don't start at the beginning and keep going through character and plot development, ups and downs, and finally a great conclusion. If that's the way it's supposed to be done, I'm an abject failure. I have an idea and I write the scenes as they come to me, bouncing back and forth through the story timeline tying it all together until – voilà – a story occurs. This works best if I don't start publishing before I have, at least, the rough draft done – a lesson learned from "Caged", here. Some of the scenes you just read were written several years ago; others over the spring and summer while I was agonizing over Chapter 20. For the latter part of November up until now, I've been tying them together, filling in some holes, and revising. I think it's not bad now. I'd as much as promised one reviewer there would be an update before the end of the year. I hate that it's taken me so long to finish this story – longer than the war was, even. That's pretty ridiculous, even given a full-time job and the other things that make up life. I should have made more time for this and not gotten so hung up on the last chapter. As always, I will try to do better. _

_-Bows-_

_Pen_


End file.
